The night folds across his skin,
a fabric worn thin by silence.
He waits among shadows that quiver,
his breath a faint wind through leaves.
Polished shoes gleam like kept secrets,
the moon draws lines upon his face.
Each gesture a bridge to nowhere—
his smile, soft thunder in disguise.
He walks out of dreams half-formed,
a quiet hunger cloaked in poise.
Words fall carefully from his mouth,
distant echoes seeking their prey.
In his eyes, the galaxies tremble,
their edges frayed by ancient restraint.
He is patient as stars dissolving,
the mask of civility holding firm.