I Could Love Him

I could love him. The way he marries words together, composing a magical elixir that creates the most glorious pictures in my mind. The letters swim and dance on the page, gathering into breathless conception, one drawing you into the next.

I could love him. His canvas explodes with passion, colors and brush strokes telling a story that words could never spell. At once his work howls into the darkness of shallow thought and then whispers in the shadows of arcane reflection.

I could love him. He moves as though the music is manifested from deep within him, flowing through his limbs and joints like a meandering river carving its way through rock. Every step and reach evolving one to the next without hesitation, speaking without words.

I could love him. His mind always reaching for more, seeking a depth of knowing, of conviction. The way he feasts on authenticity and can never quench his appetite for enlightenment. He opens his soul to the many facets of tiny details, allowing the truth to wash over him again and again as he discerns his understanding.

It is not the image with which I fall in love – it is the heart, the spirit, the soul of the man that turns my head and stops my heart. It is the fire within him that draws the breath from my soul to nourish it, and in turn, warms me to my marrow.

Strip yourself bare in my presence, fully clothed, let me see what lies beneath the posture you hold when you turn your face to the world. Let me be your range of refuge where no mask is required, no veil will come to our place of solace.

I could love him in his truth.

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