he looks pretty great striding from a lake
boxing by a mirror in a field of wheat
pointing to an artfully decorated cake
dancing with a salsa band down in the street

he looks so moody playing the flute
staring distractedly into a fire
running down a road with a dog in pursuit
spooning courgettes from a new air fryer

he’s read a lot about ASMR
so he whispers proper nouns up to the mic
lover fighter healer father
the sound of a fat moth pinging off a light

and millions pine for him, millions swoon
he knows because he counts their hearts
every time he goes to his room
a second after his laptop starts

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