pretty much

You're considerably more beautiful
than would be appropriate, in terms

of the effort it takes to keep my mind
off you. Which is effort

I don't intend to waste. Anyway, who's
to know? Besides,

your freckles

make my eyes ache - constellations
across the milky way

of your face,

which, salt-kissed
and sunblushed, leans down
from above where I lie flat
on my back, having been
pretty much laid out.

In the hushed and closing space
between us sounds an ocean. You
are all I see.

You're amused. Just a touch
of a squint, as if
you could be as dazzled
by your smiling eyes

as I.

Which you could be,
I suppose, if you ever really looked,
and had an ego the size that you looking at me

makes mine.

Days without you are like memory
instead of living. But I know reasons why
it's worthwhile to live them.

The sun is going. The only falling star
we expect to see again,
and I wish on it

daily, except when you're here.

I wish
your seawater sunshine eyes
were there, because even a sunset this beautiful
suffers without its perfect frame:

your face, so all that soft blue glow
and rose glimmer of gold bands
can catch flecks and flickers
in your limpid eyes,

and I could just stand there,
agape

at the world's most beautiful view. And I know,

because I intend to travel that world, and to take
that view with me, with days and nights
flying after each other.

I wish

you were above me here,
shining down now.

I would look up
to the heavens, and see

myself, amazed and reflected in them -

good as eternity.