He loved himself intensely, loved his eyes,
the sleepy mellow droop of his eyelids
neatly creased at the corners. Satisfied,
calm, he took the golden bowl that he knew
would come, and found his smooth skin and clean jaw
curved with style across the mild metal sheen.
She loved herself intensely, loved her eyes,
neon blue, alert, in constant motion.
Once she met him she was sure he would share
the golden bowl, and she wanted to see
her eyes’ reflection—large, bright, bewitching—
along the gold-plated crystal bottom.
They loved themselves intensely, loved their eyes,
the balance of contrasting perfections,
his half-closed glance against her restless stare.
The golden bowl contained them face by face,
held them both on the ultra-thin plating.
But below the gold the crystal was flawed.
They loved the flaw intensely, loved the crack
that couldn’t be seen but only described.
Depending on their moods the flaw was large,
small, funny, sad, harmless, devastating.
They talked it out of the gold till the bowl
dissolved to breath, aired and toned, dictated.
Originally Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 2.
