Lover With Damp Hair
She is not perfect, not
a mandala or yantra, more
a rock on a cliff worn smooth
by rain and snow in their innocent falling;
a victim of gravity
She is unsymmetrical, one breast
slightly larger, a birthmark on her left hip.
The eye jumps and holds each
beautiful imperfection, tracing
an outline; a gospel of soul
She is perfectly imperfect
as she untwirls the towel, her hair
quietly falling, a drop of water shadowing
the same silhouette; undefined
as she crosses the kitchen
One would not want her to be
perfect, carved with chisel and awl,
carefully curated, among the dead
in a museum or garden. She is
what brings perfection.
You know when you have people pop in your head from time to time? Have one of them and instead of fighting what the mind does I try to start a dialogue. Sometimes it is more successful than others. Was reading Stevens earlier, so obviously under the influence #PoetrySky #Poem #Poetry