react to the pieces of
me, that have gone unnoticed
even to myself
The beauty he sees in
my eyes, spoken thoughts,
deeds, and those implied
but understood, by him and
by myself
Will be the aeon of felicity
the juncture of delight
where another has found
respect, affection for me,
other than myself
But life and light
extinguish any chance for
days of affirmation, times
when I need not try to
be myself
I am providentially
comforted by the truth,
which many cannot claim
to bear, that I do, most truly,
love myself
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