‘The best part of beauty is that which no pictures express.’ – Bacon
The lunar crescent of his smile invites
my exploration. Evidence of life.
It waxes and wanes with soft silver light,
Illuminates features sharp as a knife.
Complexity of blue shines from his eyes
inventing spectrum shades yet undefined,
perhaps once captured by a midnight sky.
My gaze addicted to colour refined.
He speaks to me in truth and endearment,
With cello string words, an orchestral tone.
Sound so sweet, I get lost in the content.
His natural scent, addictive cologne.
He knows not of this physical appeal,
real beauty projects from something surreal.