Close to beauty's where I've been,
closer than close, sweeter than sin.
I had real good fabric they came over to feel.
I had a beautiful mom, the real mom deal
whose beauty you would have charmed to steal.
Saturdays I watched the blond wood set
then strapped on my guns and hat and went out back,
full of cowboys, a little nervous in the fringe.
Nervous with no good play
just myths and shadows, the itch down my leg.
I've stayed okay, jumpy and pleased.
The intensity of pleasure can be a killer wanting
to stay inside. Beauty with a glowing mask
loves me as we walk. I have my arms always around her,
for she is my dearest companion. When I wonder,
as I do, who else knows this, it is like hearing a horn
far off, muted, afire with longing. The notes fade
and I see only the faces of the unhappy or suspicious.
My grip on beauty thus slackens. I let her go for others
to know her as I do. I want her to go to them.
Briefly I worry, feeling this way. But I know beauty.
I allow her everything. Others seeing this
go more to their own sad muted fires.
Their feet burn and they run yelling.
My beauty fears them, but lets them come.