The quick flash of pearls
as you curl your lips
blinds me.
How lovely a sight
to witness joy
come alive in your eyes.
Each angle, shade, expression
of your living self
is my peace
and I wonder
how too do I appear
in the eyes of a lover,
of someone who sees not a body to scorn
or a hated reflection?
Does my skin taste of strawberries?
Does the sun shine when I smile?
Would I too embrace my tired figure
and shower my beaten skin
with tender kisses?

I grieve at the thought
that I may never have the luxury
of hearing the slowing of my breath
as sleep envelopes me.
That I will never see
the reflection in
my candied eyes.
That I will never smell
my own scent
or give witness to the way
light reflects from my face.
I am an open book
whose pages
I do not get to read.