To see the contours of your face, each morning,
Is as watching the sun break like a wave
Over the world. I awake to find I am lost:
I am a child, never seen the sea before,
Adoringly taking in the first fresh sight of it,
Its majesty, its ever-changing sameness,
Its uncrafted and uncraftable wonder.
Stray boy, falls across a curious formation
Of facial angles, perfect, maritime.
All this, in silence; barely a sigh is seen
To raise the smooth exposure of your chest,
The proneness of your inward-curving waist
As you lay like a valley’s horizon on your side.
A child, who’d never heard the sea
Trapped in a shell, can barely hear you sleeping.
A poor fool, lost in wonder that such grace
And poise should flow from an unconscious form:
I awake in dreaming, and in waking, lose
All memory of being anything but your boy.