Seraphic

Heaven must have misplaced one of its dwellers for a seraph is sojourning in my eyes, unsullied. He has a seraphic air about him—I feel his presence in the lap of nature, like an angel on a pursuit to tuck me under a soft coverlet of unceasing pleasantness. Gentleness resides in the comfort of his palms, and he has fingertips that never tire of praising God with every bead in his prayer tasbih. He is the softest of God’s creations, a man I sought dreamingly and restlessly. Like a bee eager for a rose’s heavenly nectar, I fly to his honied eyes, enticed… oh enticed.