Beauty

My idea of beauty is not like hers.

But that don’t me that we can’t be together.

She; my love laughs

At the slightest hint of accident or slip.

She finds beauty in the lows and leavings of life.

She doesn’t see light in the morning

Slipping through the trees

Like the first day of heaven.

She doesn’t smile at the chirp of birds,

More at the lunatic basket-weavers

Who sit and smile

And twiddle their thumbs and toes.

My idea of beauty is she.

Hers is of me.

3 thoughts on “Beauty

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