Beautiful Woman
Beautiful woman he sees, not me.
Glitter-filled bubbles populate the misty-colored air;
faucets singing rushing over naked wrinkled bodies
rejuvenating, cleansing valleys where time crochets
each shadow and flower
each bird
each bee.
Lifting my chin so shamefully
the parent sun correcting mistakes—burning my eyes
bleaching them red leaving them barren.
Desert eyes are weak; each grain of sand commands a tear.
A water works;
an opportunity to relieve my body of fear.
Million dollar beads of sweat rise from the dead
and appear, moonlighting—dancing—flirting.
Tracing the trails, the stories of my fate,
he warms the sadden dew resting now, sleeping now.
Wiping away the sloppy, unsuccessful words he struggles to find the light in my day.
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