he

by rhiannon macgregor

i’d thought myself immune to carnal pleasure
determined to my life without a mate
til face and form and culture without measure
met within one man to tempt my fate.
unworthy, i could only look, not touch
at sinew hewn from flesh and bone and sun
and fantasize myself within just such
embraces whence new beings are begun.
and wit! an agile mind behind such beauty
as pretenders to high culture would admire
beholden only to one sense of duty
the angels to his graces should aspire.
oft into my old age shall i recall
he who casts all others in a pall.

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about this poem:

there's always one person out there that makes you remember you're human, isn't there?