For a second, made to drink
And see the face before me,
Upon me. To disgrace
All other noses, their slope
None as quick as mine
I marvel at its perfect point
Between the mounds
Of my cheekbones. The space between
My face and my face
Is a thing that keeps me
Too far from it. I should
Drown to be near enough
Two eyes fix my own
Like rods of polished steel, brow to brow.
I wonder at them, wondering at me.
There is no flaw that I can see
As I trace the liquid of
Each perfect feature, of myself.
I am caught up in my search, in disbelief and rooted.
In disbelief, and rooted
Here I will flower
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