Affinity

Ours is a campus of Adonises. Tan, brown, white, pink, golden, ebony, amber. They shimmer in a glow of sunkissed light. These men belong on pedestals, adorning the entrances of Grecian temples.
Their marble cheekbones and stony shoulders bear the fingerprints of a loving, masterful sculptor. Their windswept curls and the shadows of their eyelashes belong under the brushstrokes of Michelangelo.
I long to trace a pencil along the perfect lines of their crossed ankles, smooth the clay of their expressive mouths, and dash my charcoal against the rocks in my failure to capture the coiled strength hiding in their hands.
A dozen pairs of longing eyes follow their ambling steps. They stride like stallions, slouch like willows against the woven black metal of coffeehouse chairs, stand poised, muscles tensed like a jaguar, to spring into the unwary hearts of the many doting fawns.
Olympus, for all its splendor, aches for their throaty whispers, the lilting music of their laughter, and the triumphant gleam twinkling behind the eyes of our Baylor boys.