• You are beautiful.
    One of these days
    I'll tell you.
    I'm not sure when.
    Perhaps when you are at some weekend party,
    giggling at the TV,
    bored to tears at a lecture on fractal geometry,
    or in place of a hug.
    Not when you are asleep.
    It's true.
    Those who manage to survive
    shrieks and thrown plates
    over whether the light should be on in the living room
    and being called stupid for studying
    instead of drinking in the bars
    and still hold hands and trust
    are truly beautiful.
    I've wanted to say it for a while now.
    You would shake your head, not looking me in the eye.
    If I pressed, your skin would seethe, blotchy red
    your voice a cold snap.
    I'd back down, but I’ll never take it back.
    Pity never polluted it,
    whimsy doesn't have the courage.
    Even when you are sweating
    or have stains on your pants
    or sobbing so your nose runs.
    That you insist on telling off
    the inebriated cretin who wants to drag
    some poor dear back to his place or
    spend your off day helping me fill out
    a credit card application,
    or sit with me for an afternoon
    not saying anything,
    makes me want to say
    you are beautiful
    and that I love you.