You are the skeleton key to my caged tiger
close enough to use this shield for a mirror.
The past was content with reflection;
you're the least indulgent person I know.
That face launched oceans
first from shock, last from horror.
You've born the weight of other's error.
This hesitation doesn't indicate doubt, my calculated Cupid.
You're no apocalypse, just mathematics.
(I can handle application, theory escapes me.)
Your face is technically perfect
Even everything I'd ask for,
But it's not why I hid in the kitchen
crying into a smile at 2 in the afternoon.
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