What is it about your face that makes me think about the stars and galaxies, milky spirals of infinity, portals to mystical dimensions? Why is it that your eyes both calm and agitate me, like they hide secrets to mysteries I’ll never understand? The soft glow of your skin speaks of nights of infinite darkness and of golden rays from distant suns who’s light will never reach my eyes. Your voice channels echo’s of chambers where angels and demons wrote the destiny of man on walls of gold with blood of poets. Your mind a labyrinth of infinite turns where gladiators would lose themselves in battles with strange creatures and lay their bones to rest in piles of futility. Why does my mind always get stuck in repeat, stuck sweetly in the mystery of you?