You're beautiful and you're male, so you don't want to hear that, but it's the only way to describe you. I can't paint you, but you have the seven wonders in your eyes. That's beautiful, isn't it? You're a land of unmarked territory, charted for me to sail. I've explored the planes of your hands, and the expanse of your back, places where you ought to be fragile, seemed made of granite, you were my rock I suppose. You were greens, blues and the shade of red right before the stars peek out, speaking of stars, they branded you as theirs. Stars on your hips, and electricity in your fingertips, whoever made you was trying to make a new world, tripped and slipped the whole universe into a man.
Galaxies in the eyes of man who became allergic to being called beautiful.