Enemies falter at his fingertips

Butterflies flutter in place

Electric flashes of blue constellations

Tangled in his tender gaze

Which pierces through the ash adrift

Like a cloth of darkest night

Pitch black hair pitched toward the sky

Warm starlight bathes his eyes

Yet I love him for not his power

But for rather what lies below

For under all the suits and sweaters

Rests the gentlest heart and soul —

An unpolished but honest sculpture

Who wraps me in coat and arms

Who when at last is stripped of guises

Bears fruits full of ripe surprises