Chapter 14

But he had held such beliefs prior to hearing the man speak. Listening to Jefferson was utterly different than reading him. This was verse given life. Each word carried a weight Micah had only imagined before. Now, he felt it. They issued in a smooth baritone to cross the distance, hover for seconds before him, then drift down to caress his skin as it seeped into his flesh. There was so much he adored about Jefferson’s poetry, but the way each image demanded to be experienced—the way Jefferson’s heartfelt recitation demanded—was what he truly loved.

The last line of the poem was still reverberating through his body when Jefferson looked up from the paper. “I think it’s still a little rough.”

Micah started. “You must be joking. It’s brilliant.”

“No. I will need to revise it. The penultimate stanza doesn’t…” Jefferson paused and tilted his head. “Do you really think it’s brilliant?”