Steven Tarmer

Perhaps it was just chance.  Perhaps fate.  Perhaps destiny, whose merciless hand governs our lives with her icy fist and gauntlets of steel.  Maybe it was a product of all three, but by whatever means or force of the universe I loved Steven Tarmer.  There is little magical sounding about his name, yet his entire being is such a manifestation of magic that to stare at him is to gaze at perfection.  Few know, few really know, of the true feel of love.  Of lover's soft caress, carrying in that electrical touch a lifetime of promises.  Oh, many believe they do.  Many false lovers spend endless nights dreaming of falling into the arms of another, but alas they are in denial.  For they love being loved, and in turn their lover loves the illusion of being loved, until both lovers love a thing, not a person but a notion.  I could never be so careless with my heart, to allow it to fall on any but that sensible being to which my every thought is consumed by.  There is no word, no description ever penned nor typed that could even begin to contemplate portraying any aspect of Steven, never the less I shall attempt to create such a characterisation, although cheapening that mortal ethereal being.  I shall start with the eyes, for the eyes open to us a glimpse of the very soul Steven, and are thus more beautiful than the most dazzling of sapphires.  They shine the blue of a deep ocean, sparkling like crystal drops of rain as they plummet into the vast sea.  Within those eyes is a story of dark sadness, withheld from the onlooker.  Beneath the eyes sit the lips.  Oh, those ruby lips.  Like two cherries, so full of promises.  And the face, the divine face upon which perfection lays, as if chiselled by the angels from the whitest of marbles.  His hair is of gold spun to silk, so soft to run my unworthy fingers through, yet how could I resist?  My love, my life.