His perfection is not that of a symmetrical face,
hazel shaped eyes
full lips that are always moist, with a hue that resembles pink.
Mid section that is not dissimilar from my favorite chocolate bars
dark chocolate complexion ridiculously contrasting with his white pearly smile.
His perfection is not in his name, Timorteus
a name fit for a Greek god
and I know he looks like one!
A touch, yes, a touch
that sends me knocking on heaven’s door.
His perfection is that of a golden heart,
one you would steal and never give back
hide it in the safest part of your soul.
His perfection is of good deeds
that entice a smile on a teary face.
A warmth that cancels out all the coldness.
His perfection is reflected in his ambition
to fly, to play ball, to help.
His perfection is not external
it all resides in the inside.
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