Black stuff

Imagine being love for being everything that you are and in that being everything that you are unapologetically. When likened for every facet of your being, the fibers of your reality shift and change without reason or remorse. The spots of a ladybird, the stripes of a zebra, the scars of a man. Healed by the touch of you.
Midas in nature, golden, a find so rare. Is it wrong to dream, to fabricate a reality that one wishes to unfold. Is he just a fool he questions himself again. Yet juxtaposed by a feeling, a feeling that's so right. 'How can I be wrong? I can't possibly be wrong?' He asks.
You dance but you're still. Time ticks but remains stagnant. The world stops but revolves around you. His heart screams but no sound is made. He's courted you a thousand times over but never once have you come into his gaze. To be loved from afar. Tired by it all. Exhaustion makes a coward of all men. His inner voice beacons him. Risk it, try it, stand tall.
The first step is the hardest, the most daunting, yet fulfilled. Boom boom, his heart beats so loud against his rip cage, its a marching drum leading him to his eternal rest.
What's the worst that can happen, he says, as he trys to deny his soul. He knows the answer, much more than just a bruised ego. Every step monumental, a climb. Will his sweat produce and equity, a worth, a pricelessness. So tangible he can nearly reach out and touch it, but its in the intangible potential that grasps his allure.
Now face to face, you and him connect. All anxieties disappear instantly. For in his eyes you see truth, pain but care. Sorrow but Strength. Hurt but happiness. Lost but love.
He speaks, his voices cracks, breaking the barrier of fear that contained possibility for so long. You listen, as he asks. 'One pint of the black stuff please' now he's a happy man and that's the end of that.