First, I would have him compassionate,
Intelligent, looking for incite, and quiet
Gazing at my work
At the one moment he let his guard down
Saddened, lonely and desolate
He approaches not looking
For my attention
A moment,
Nor the stitch in time,
But nay the privilege to hold
My beauty expressed in so many words
In his hands. That minute, second of relentless
Redolence to break free of a cascading
Derelict confinement and he reads.
