His eyes, the face of flame, the jovial fire,
His voice, the lilt of the storm o'er a thundering sea,
His laugh, the bass of God's seraphim choir,
His walk, it is marked by cherubs, distinctive to me.
His grin, a beam of the sun astray on earth,
His hair, star-spangled dusk and eventide,
His joke, an easy tug to endless mirth,
His blood, with dreams it thrives and lives inside,
His thoughts, an ocean with depths I cannot perceive,
His gaze, a candle alight that blazes so strong,
His tongue, much sharper than swords you'd dare to believe,
His heart, so full of warm, harmonious song.
He is a heaven, far too good to be true.
His love without a doubt would think so too.