Of Course You’re Beautiful

Of course you’re beautiful.

Why do you need to ask?

When you’re in the

mood and raiment

of a coquette,

a fire of needles and

sunflowers burns in my abdomen

and impossibly, I’m broken open

like husks under a Florida sun.

You bind yourself so skillfully

in that red dress,

yet its like a brace

around the treacherous

energy of a tempest

and after you’ve

swept away the citadel

of my body,

I’m left only with my sadness.

Don’t you know, my love,

you are God’s most

melancholic and desperate creation.

When he despaired

at all his work,

turned his back and

fled the oceans,

the mountains, the forests

and hated them

and their awful equilibrium,

he poured his pain and fever

and longing into you.

And so that he might

have something to lose,

to fear or fret over

in his madness,

he cleaved you

from his eternally wounded side.

So beautiful, so terrible,

men are like moths

in the licking, unquenchable fire-light,

and galleons plunge

over the arches of your eyes.

And I am filled with

God’s madness and pain.


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