The Depth of Skin (poem)

We all know that beauty’s only skin deep,
But sometimes – SOMETIMES – it smacks you in the face.
Demands attention.
Full attention.

Your eyes lock on, your tongue lolls low
Your heart beats that little bit faster.

You see her standing at the bar and your ego goes on autopilot
As your doubt dives for the door.
“Can I buy you a drink?” you say, as dashing and bold and unlike your normal self as that time you asked out Lucy Zeilinski at the football club social.

This beauty at the bar, the most beautiful by far,
With divine, picture-perfect porcelain skin,
A face to launch a shedful of ships,
Long legs, shapely hips
Easy smile upon her face,
Radiating easy grace.

She quacks.

You laugh deeply.

Beauty AND fun.

You think you’re in love.
Is this what it feels like to meet the one?

Faster. Faster.

Scenes flash by:
Passionate courtship
Exchanging vows
Holding her hand as the twins are born,
Giving your daughter away in a stylish society wedding as your wife, your beautiful, beautiful wife, smiles on with doe eyes as loved up as they were in this moment of meeting, when two particles met in the cold vastness of an empty universe and bonded instantly, feted by the stars, lauded by the poets, the greatest, most beautiful love, enduring through the ages, as smooth, taut skin sags and wrinkles, hand-in-hand, together, through all life’s seasons.

Then she quacks again. QUACK!

Doubt comes running back, accompanied by its bosom buddies, self-loathing and self-pity, and I flee as awkwardly and rudely, as Lucy Zeilinski at the football club social.

8125512050_c9e7f26468_m / Creative Commons

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