Aaron'ss arms adorn his bed like waterfalls to cliffs,
His hair long, to cradle a head of dreams that childhood left adrift,
The eyes that pierced the air between us to my heart now rest,
To allow for my personal unveiling of such magnificence.
A man’s soul grown to the edge of his aura,
Could only be the soul of a man who once was a boy with no mother,
In a world of lost longing, of stolen signs and permanent pain,
A world of pickled vision harvesting chaos, only to repeat it all again,
Grew the man who rests before me, like Poseidon along a river,
He crafts for society homes and shelters, be builds with his hands layers upon layers,
Of pristinely planned mosaics in which we house our lives,
He told me this is the Art that joins, but that humanity divides,
(That was the day that marked our first time together, alone,
That orchestration called coincidence had him working, unknown,
Along a street, where I happened to be
Walking by, when the call of my name stopped me.)
Aaron's body lies framed by his room’s spectrum of grays,
It files away a mystery, like the beauty of a painted maze,
But I am only a vagabond here, he expects nothing more,
And while my heart submits to this reticence, the hours ahead, I cannot ignore,
These moments like lives weave to form interdependently,
An invinsible mandala to illustrate a map for uncertainty,
I will leave him, alone in his world of childhood dreams,
And let him wake to whatever it is, his designed daylight brings
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