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.