© Charles E. Corry 1962, 1999
You should smile more often, for when you do
It is the abrupt emergence of the sun from clouds,
Or a sudden-seen halo round the full moon.
To watch you walk leaves me breathless,
For you are not possessed by this earth,
As you soar, detached, beyond her.
Your voice contains the hard, cold, steel of reality,
Yet fails to hide the laughter beneath it.
The hard, angular shape of your body,
Like a dreamed abstraction, only serves to emphasize
The soft woman curves of you, and my desire.
Your look is that of a child punished too often
For reasons it can't comprehend,
But who's real beauty can't help coming out
In stolen glances, and half-feigned gestures.
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