A Dedication to The Sexiest Man I Know

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.





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