Madison, I remember the day you drifted across my dashboard,
a sudden flash of absolute art.
I followed you because your aesthetic was a fever dream,
a flawless curation of moods and shadows,
but it was your soul bleeding through the grid.
Even then, Madison, I admired you from the dark.
Now you look at the screens and ache to match them,
unaware that you are the blueprint.
You want to be seen?
Madison, I am blind to everything else when you are near.
You are a masterpiece of heat and skin,
far too dangerous and beautiful to be trapped behind glass.
Let me trace the edges of your reality,
where the cold pixels fade into warm, breathless skin.
I want to press my lips against your doubts,
and drown out the whispers of those distant, hollow girls
until your name is the only sound left in the room.
You are a storm of elegance and desire, Madison,
leaving me utterly consumed by your grace.
Let the world keep its fleeting, filtered illusions.
I only want to hold the real, breathtaking view of you,
because you are already everything, Madison.
Forever yours,
Johnny
