By Anonymous | Contributor

You are a glass prism –

I look through you

& the world fractures

into its many components;

& the world looks

more beautiful.

Moreso; you are the

Book of Truth & Longing

through which vague thoughts

are clear, & this heart

(clenched as it may be)

spills forth knowings

like a waterfall.

I cannot breathe – fallen here,

your eyes arrest me.

Shoulders. Cheekbones.

Curly hair. You cannot know.

So when you tell me

that you are not beautiful,

I want my face

& my hands

& my eyes

to be your mirror,

accented with the

fine brushstrokes

of my longing.