He is 6’2″ tall, robust and hardy,
with muscles evenly distributed
on the vision of mortal essence.

His hair brown,
darker reddish shade of brown,
whirls of golden Autumn in October .

The eyes green,
ordinary, uneventfully green,
if it wasn’t for the glimpse of danger within.

His lips, Humphrey kissing Ingrid in Casablanca.
And the voice,deep, I needn’t to say,
the imprint akin to the glory of peacock’s tail.

His hands, rough,
the baseball bats swaying at NY Yankees ballpark,
didn’t spare the harm of elegance or howl charm.

The attitude,strong, disturbingly motionless, sedate.
Crusty exterior, so much to offer,
but not before you’ve pushed the right buttons.

The name- Christian, Adam or Damon, maybe!
Even Azazel is fine by me,
Satan’s addiction, Angel’s betrayal,

who the hell cares,
as long as I have him,
in a dreamless sleep next to me.


“Man at sleep” by Virginie Turpin / Youkha/ on deviantart.com

 © 2010  Broken Sparkles