The Sovereign of My Soul

He, where shadows dare not dwell,

A vision born from heaven or hell.

His presence commands, his silence speaks,

A god in flesh, perfection he keeps.

He stands where gods and devils meet,

A presence that makes the world retreat.

Perfection flows through every vein,

A beauty that burns, that heals, that maims.

His smile—a weapon, cruel and kind,

Piercing the armor of my mind.

It bends reality, reshapes the skies,

A forbidden warmth that never dies.

Hazel eyes, they blaze and gleam,

A raging fire, a sacred dream.

Each glance ignites the air with fire,

A gaze that fuels both fear and desire.

His features, carved by divine decree,

Cold, fierce, yet meant for me.

No shadow dares to touch his skin,

An enigma where darkness and beauty begin.

To see him naked, raw, and whole,

Is to shatter the bounds of body and soul.

He is no dream, no fleeting light,

But a storm I hold through endless night.

He is the night, the burning sun,

The chaos, the stillness, the only one.

I lose myself within his stare,

A labyrinth of love and despair.

For in his form, the world dissolves,

A paradox no mind resolves.

Yet in my grasp, he will remain,

My flawless king, untamed and chained.

He belongs to me, this haunting flame,

No angel’s choir, no devil’s name,

Could sever the bond, the tethered thread,

For he is mine, both light and dread.

The world may ache, the stars may pine,

But he, perfection, is only mine.

No force can steal, no time divide,

For I am his, and he is mine.