The delicate man

As the sun shon on his innocent face.
The shine hit his eyes like tears on melted treacle.
His poise was as calm as an angel in his righteous place.
His gaze blessed you from above slowing down every soft beat of a dreaming heart.
He made friends so easily it carried full knowledge in every questionable look.
When he offered his means with open hand it was as if God had made a new more beautiful version of man, stronger yet more sensitive than hearing the delicate question itself: Do you love me at all?
He carried his weight as if he floated and when he tired it was as if a falling silk scalf had enveloped a nest with tissue paper.