He had no name

Incomplete in its splendor,
in his empty eyes, ready to accept.
The scent of addictive torment
and overworked thinking.

To compare,
whether it is a raw, vulnerable being,
swirling in the choppy water,
fearful and agitated.

She won his heart,
Her modesty was put on hold.
We didn't call him, but we understood him.
His eyes spoke volumes about him.

The time of roses ready to bloom
and his wounded melancholy.

He had no name,
the nameless man of thoughts.