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I remember the first time I saw him on the Great Debaters. I liked the cut of his jib, no lie. Most of all I fell in a deep, bright, bottomless love with his lips. I have never seen a thing so inviting, so soft, so volminous. I loved his penetrating eyes and the softness behind them when he teared up. I guess God still makes em good. I find myself daydreaming. With my eyes closed I sketch a path of silken light across his beautiful face with my finger tips. It’s art you see. Better to be felt than seen. Better to be coveted and esteemed. Nate Parker, if only you were attainable. If only you weren’t married. (sigh) He draws me most when he plays period roles. Anything before 1970 is the right time for this oozing of masculine dignity to spew forth in a thespian flow. I see something so strong, regal, so endearing. It would be heaven to be near it. Sometimes I can’t even look at him. I hide my eyes in a whirlwing of adoration. To me, his stare is better than 10 Darius Lovehalls. But above all I am proud of the roles he takes. There is something to be said about a man who portrays such greatness in the face of adversity. Maybe that same greatness is in him as well. But from here all I can really tell is that he’s beautiful. A sight for the eye to see and an inviting flame for my mind to touch.
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