He

He;

Kishore Kumar

He, the embodiment of beauty; the fairest of fair; whom Buonarroti would have treasured beyond measure; whose form alone is capable of building almighty empires; who, unadorned and austere, surpasses all models of masculine comeliness;
His hair a lush growth on his scalp, nature’s boast of abundance; of the darkest of blacks, the colour of night in the deepest rainforests; the long locks worn in an artfulness putting to shame many a human creation;
His skin a lesson in colour and beauty; of a smooth fairness – the colour of gold married to cream – a gift of a shade to an artist, a feast to the eyes; mellow to touch, the definition of velvet;
His brow vast and lustrous; his temples with their royal slant a beauty manifest and subtle at once;
His eyes a piercing black, clear and satisfied, mirrors of a guiltless conscience; open wide in authority; with the tranquillity of moonbeams reflected on a calm lake;
His nose sculpted into perfection; straight in its length and rounded at the tip, a shape of exotic homeliness;
His cheekbones high with a princely elegance; chiselled out by The Maker with the splendour of antiquity;
His lips an impossible clash of sensuality and warmth; of the colour of ripe pomegranates, and as succulent; curved in such pleasing a shape that in all, resisting is but impossible;
His smile an exercise of the universe in clarity and joy, soothing the heart and filling it with delight; the perfect expression for joys eternal and ephemeral; His stubble an innocent, gentle, primal celebration of masculinity; mischief and certainty blend into an air of perfect manliness as it curls around his parted lips;
His face thus one that Olympus couldn’t possess; in its glory almost divine; its features clearer than any mascara could define; a seraphic visage fairer than Adonis, that would have an admirer dream of it for nights;
His long neck a classical beauty, fair and high, with the teasing hint of an Adam’s apple; the nape handsome with its fuzz, where an amorous hand may pass around in ardour;
His shoulders broad and enduring, where a worthy head may rest in love and fulfilment;
His arms strong and curved in a raw and virile beauty; imposing in their power and fairness; suggestive in shape, their sheer strength almost seductive; perfect to wrap around when winter creeps in from under the sheets;
His hands finely sculpted and well skilled; firm in grasp; his fingers carved in elegance masterful; his touch warm and intense, his handclasp an enviable comfort;
His august chest a sermon in sculpture and splendour; accentuated by the fuzz of hair, sparse but rightly distributed; the pinnacle of manly allure painted in the best of colours in the right places; its curves a beauty so inviting it takes a Himalayan effort not to give in;
His abdomen and its shape a marvel; its black curls arranged to lure; his waist shaped in precision, well demarcated to guide to treasures beauteous and vital;
His thighs the end of all human endeavour; shaped in consummate luxury – strong, aesthetic, delightful – and designed to support empires;
His fragrance an overwhelming aphrodisiac; of summer gardens and winter fireplaces; bewitching the senses and benumbing the mind, capable of tempting saints; exquisitely overawing, a priceless gift to him that shall lay in his arms in love;
His voice a rich baritone, the zenith of nature’s designs to communicate, to call, to create; commanding, complying, tender; melodious as the greatest notes ever written;
His demeanour that of a commander of time, for whom centuries lay in waiting; head upright, not a care in the world; certainty in state and purpose in stride; flamboyant among friends and spirited in conversation; imposing in stature, magnetic in persona;
He; whose person is designed for every conceivable delight, in fragrant gardens on moonlit nights; endowed with the strengths to direct histories and move oceans; to be the companion of another of equally incomparable merits, in spirit and in body, eternally.