Sunday, November 3, 2013

Sonnet, of sorts

(ca. 1986/7) 



She stands before the glass contemplative,
critiques her face and faults all relative;
and studies where her form symmetric falls,
familiarly discerns pounds possible –
Ridiculous in naked truth are we;
"too much or not enough" decidedly
of profile, flows of lines, of hip or bust –
She sees it all, as so have I, but just
let her perceive what I beyond form see:
From scar of cheek down through her wrists my eye
traverses fragrant joy yet unreveal'd –
sound glance of love does penetrate and heal
when drawn in love to 'waken inner being:
for what's being look'd for is what's looking.



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