The beauty I can’t have is this moon
Which will sink below the horizon soon.
The air of this June evening by the ocean.
Big roses. Trees. And my emotion.
The beauty I can’t have is tall.
Excuse me. I have to take this call.
Okay. It was just her telling me again
How inferior I am to other men.
The lovely women too retiring leave me cold.
The women who haunt me are beautiful and bold.
The beauty which is private and hides
In me but disappears with the tides,
With the days, which dwindle into dark
Dreams. The green, shadowy park
Of little paths of flowers bending to bees,
The pollen clinging to their furry knees.
The perfect bodies of whores in porn.
The light when I was born.
The beauty I can’t have is her,
And all the loves in the world that were.
The only beauty I have is love, which she
Gave me once. That’s the beauty which belongs to me.