your nose takes risks,
pursuing a path
defiant
of your face.

your walk has dips;
it tilts to tempos
shaken
from your hips.

your lips are mobile glass.
reflecting my approach
along their fringe
they spring, uncoiling
with a crystal clarity.

and I am struck, again.
I fall to eyes, again.
my eyes that cannot yield
the lovely, lovely
you
you
cannot see.