He once again looks like a stained-glass saint, and it’s blasphemous maybe that the sight of his beauty pushes a prayer out of my soul. A prayer of pure love, pure gratitude to God that Elijah exists. That he is here and beautiful and perfect, and God has made him so. Like an apple tree among the trees of the forest is my beloved among the young men. His mouth is sweetness itself; he is altogether lovely. This is my beloved, this is my friend.
