UNDER A PEACHTREE IN JUNE

I don’t want to draw attention

to the physical affliction I know

is the completion of your life.

The way you pleasure a mirror

every time you give a sideways

glance passing by in this room

or that. Do you see, do you know,

do you understand the the depth

of beauty you wear? Do you know

the only synonym of beauty is pain?

The perfect symmetry and confidence

of eyes and nose and lips, and the

way the ivory of your shoulder

invites caress despite the ice in

your eyes is my private singularity.