Beauty in the eye is immaterial, The frayed edges of an ancient curtain, Old swaying silks chisel-cut in stone, Phidias’ fingers in a remembered breeze, 5 Or slender toes in overgrown summer grass. Feet and heart go spasmodically fast In the uncut grass at discovery’s edge; Lips once pinked to touch another’s, Brittle as glass, yellowed of youth, 10 Twenty-two centuries of dumb longing undone, Til time becomes only the memory of youth, Chipped blasphemy of a once living form. Only her kiss’ caress can guess this truth. Dan Weeks & Gregg Glory
From the collection "Nobody Poems"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.