A tilt of his head while he studies the rising mist of the late evening. Like a smoke, or a fire in slow motion, a cool thing, but nonetheless the shade of a burning passion. Even as the mist dances over the garden, like the flames dance on the Pit of Doom, fire mimicked in mist.

(From what I've tasted of desire)

"I should have said this earlier, and for that I apologize, but you looked very beautiful this evening."