He has it, everyone knows, except for him.
Maybe not in his dress or the way he keeps his hair;
it's something mystical, raw, uncomposed,
and wanting for expression, under stage lights, perhaps.
Yet, he keeps it in his pocket with the lint of the day.
It doesn't matter.
It seeps out on its own and takes over,
in the way he moves -
in his convoluted but brilliant speech.
He holds himself unassuming
yet wears charisma as cologne.