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He walks among mortals, his heart pure and empty.
The untouchable one. The one who inspires love but cannot feel it.
Women swoon at the sight of him like blades of grass blown in the wind.
He tries hard to be kind to them, but of course he wounds them with his indifference,
His inability to return their heartfelt devotion.
Then he sees her. Psyche. Her beauty leaves him cold, but her mind,
The true enduring soul of the woman who does not swoon, but holds her arms
To catch him should he fall; she lights a tiny spark that grows to conflagration.
Eros and Psyche are blind to beauty, the mere physical illusion that it is;
Because they do not see it, their flawless beauty lasts forever.