He does not know that he is beautiful. He wakes up,
smiles, eyes blue, not that cliché “blue as the sky crap,”
but the kind of blue that makes you remember
the first time that you saw clear crisp ocean water,
the kind of ocean that they only
advertise on the Royal Caribbean commercials,
the kind of blue that invades sea sand tans and inhabits
the textured green strokes of seaweed.
He is a painting that could only be painted by the hands
of stardust and supernova explosions. A beauty
that could only be admired in Greek sculptures,
the very image of Achilles himself.
If we have evolved from apes, God must have
taken the most divine ape and
molded his evolution to excellence,
a man that has been put together carefully by hand,
pieced together, stitched as if a quilt was being made
to fit the very patterns of the Earth’s terrain.
And let me not forget about his mind,
the type of mind that creates things
like E = mc2
he didn’t make that up but if he
could have, he would.
The type of mind that if it were
physically capable to visualize
I would think of the Himalayas,
Ha Long Bay,
places that are treasures to the world.
Don’t think I forgot about his soul.
It’s what I think about when I visualize
a heart beating, pumping blood vessel
to vessel, feeding life
vein by vein.