I should think you have ivory boats for eyes
afloat in the bountiful, and flawless in the lawless waves
of all creation. and I very much do.
i assume you have stars to command and meadowlarks to scold
for pinching ribbons... and i never take my eyes from
your visage… for fear of losing track
of your impractical perfection.
enslaved to the sun.

[ but blue my mind,]

even as i ponder thee in seraphic splendor
i succumb to the piccolos of gloom
and fresh linen mockery of dank dreams.
I amuse a myriad of wraiths
and spawn horrors that dim into pocket lint
and late fees. I breathe in the dark green kiss
of old butterflies.

and never comb my hair without forgetting to.