Pygmalion's Bride
That's just what perfection does -
As hopeful torrid night spills in through stargazing windows
Illuminating shadowy grays drawn by God's hand in charcoal
on taunt, sepia skin. She simply retracts from you, from the floor,
scoffing at all those gaudy tones - the colorful imperfect other.
Despite Aristotelian pleas to logic, propriety
and function, she teases us seductively
dancing motionless in impossible air.
Crouching half naked, poised on Platonic tippy-toes
with perfect condescending balance as if we'd all been naughty girls and boys,
as if a chair were never meant for sitting,
and gravity makes her an exception.
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