My lover’s body is nothing at all
like glossy pics in upscale magazines
depicting coats, hats, shoes, vests, overalls,
lingerie, ties, underwear or sweaters.
Absent is that vacuous model gaze
or the cultivated “come hither” look.
In its place is frankness, warm embrace,
the reverse of a chance encounter’s luck.
Those who switch lovers like a boat’s life-vest
never come to terms with adversity
until they face a dead-end tragedy.
In the end friendship is the sturdiest
structure of love that gazes ardently—
far from the culture of celebrity.