A Profane Beauty

His beauty is what made him not hideous but profane. Some utterance in the distance where he was in the position to be mocked was his glory. His philosophical nature invoked his dreams and his knowledge invoked a sense of realism. He was fascist against stupidity a racist critic of the mind. But he was a forget-me-not. An unforgettable flower among weeds. But when he’s around, I guess that’s how all women feel.