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Sonnet, A Love Poem
I knew a man well haunted by your face:
who, often, seemed to glimpse it every place;
or, when your name was mentioned, every time
(in mundane settings, or in those ublime).
He was enamored of your shy, coy smile---
wholly without the taint of worldly guile.
He also praised your casual choice of clothes:
a polo shirt, and faded, boot-cut jeans
and (shoeless) dark tan nylons with the toes
opaquely reinforced. No word demeans
your perfect beauty. Its profundity
is meant for measures traced in poetry,
during "the pauses of eternity."
Starward
