It has got to be the way you move.
The way you walk. The way those manly strides obey the all-knowing rapture in you. The way those shoulders square the air around you. The way your face looks when you glance from side to side. A deadly combination of a gentleman and a hoodlum – spinning the world in your hands; molding it into labyrinths with your brilliance that you, and only you, can dare permeate. A brilliance radiating from a mere laugh or a mere scoff. An intellect found in a whisper. Imagine a thousand suns cowering at the sight of your luminescence.
A microscopic mark on any surface and you would still influence a multitude.
To navigate the geography of your flesh. To own your heart-shaped lips. To engulf the history of your scent.
I want it all.
I want all of you.