Her flaws are preserved in amber,
cryogenic perpetuations cropping up
in her seedlings –
unless she warms up to the possibility
If beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
then beauty is what I behold.
My eyes trace your veins,
your rough edges,
the places where you have been bruised by life’s bumps and grinds.
I see the vulnerable places,
where skin is transparent,
where cellophane wraps cells
uncertainty stretches you taut.
comfort in warped wrap,
friendship in flawed form.
I behold you –