...he is beautiful, shining glimpse of a heaven that no one else will ever touch, flesh carved and formed, silk, velvet, he tastes of leather and summer sky and enough tears to flood the world...

...plans, wheels turning and ideas formed so carefully, precise, complete within themselves and touching far more than meets the eye, I scrawl notes to my future, preparing for a moment that has yet to arrive...

...eternal, this hunger, hopeful lust and misplaced trust, each new fragment of emotion settling into place, puzzle-box universe, and then the moment passes, all is clear, revealed...

...he does not know I wait here, does not see the webs, the words and thoughts and secrets twisting themselves around his waking self, dreambound creation taking flesh, taking shape, becoming...

...and still the music plays.