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It’s visible

The plain attraction from him to her

The way she smiles can shatter his grasp on reality.

Her scent, nascent and barely there

Straightens his neck, cranks his eyes back and across

The field of dreams where he runs, dizzily contemplating

A perfect flower’s birth.

Her skin, butter-soft, yet firm with tone and care

Bades his flesh come.

Her voice, untouched by the ash and haze of humankind’s gloom

Speaks of angels, beauty, mystery, and ecstasy.

She tastes like honey happiness, deep brown chocolate, the purest nougat

Always fulfilling, never full.


His desire runs rampant

Like a beast in the forest, pursued by dogs, hawks, and men

Intent on its destruction.

Dodging obstacles, spanning chasms, and climbing cliffs in its path,

The need of any end spurs the flame to great heights

Where at once it is extinguished with the same word used to control destiny:



But he’s been wrapped, boxed, and bowed! Does she not see what’s been given on this holiday,

A night like any other, yet different in content?

Untie the bow, remove the box, and unwrap the bundle. What do we have here but

A freely-given, like-new

SOUL! One offered to share and be shorn naked for all to see its flaws, its cracks, its sheen that needs polishing.

One placed in the pile of unfinished business, the I’ll get to its, the maybe laters.


She is not some Hera or Aphrodite

She is a woman, yes, and special it makes her

But she is not perfect

Yet he loves her

He is not perfect

Yet she shuns him

Places the gift back in the wrapping, boxed up, and bowed

Once again, a gift on the doorstep of a nameless she

Who will regift and return to sender.


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