Sitting across the table receiving his words into a funnel of my ear processed, chewed, deciphered, rated, and relieved out my other ear. I stare examining his features determining my approval. The hairs from his face feather out like a lion's mane. There is no separation from his skin to his beard. It is all one cohesive piece.
I watch him speak, but I am not listening to the words. I am watching the movements of his mouth. His teeth perfectly straight and pearly white. Almost too perfect looking rather artificial. His lips thin barely pronounce definition from his teeth for when he smiles his mouth disappears. His teeth form the shape of joy.
I am mesmerized by his beard. The warmth of its colors. The fullness of each strand collected. His beard is a symbol of wildness more animal-like than human. Fiery and valiant. With the slightest penetration of white glorifying age with wisdom. As he laughs I await for a roar to join the tone. His eyes intense, yet gentle offering security as an assurance not to fear his untamed persona.
I listen to him with my eyes. I agree with my smiles. I am not so interested what he has to say as how he chooses to communicate. Watching him keeps me entertained as he lifts his eyebrows and raises his cheeks. To watch the small details of expression tickle underneath his cat-like mane.
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