And Tufted Tail and Swirled Upward Groove in Single Horn
I find it harder and harder every day to live up to my blue china. ~ Oscar Wilde
I have a perfect little china cup,
Just one. Its shape is perfect like the waist
Of Scarlett’s dress when she is all cinched up.
Its handle has been fashioned and then placed,
Just so. It curves a double curve, one curve
To suit the index finger, one to fit
The middle one. A stripe of gold, a swerve
Of precious gold, is painted onto it
Along its lower edge. This lovely ring
Of gold is set around the circling base
Beneath the perfect scene, a scene of spring
With unicorn and blossoms in May’s space.
The beast is settled in a fence to spare
…..His beard from swords, his beard of tufted hair.
And when I think about it all, I feel
That I will never be that perfect, not
Again, although I think that once the wheel
Of beauty turned my way. I was a tot
Of gold, the type of gold called white, with blue
Eyes looking not quite straight towards camera lens
And with a pinkness in the skin so true
To loveliness that it alone could cleanse
The world of ugliness, though darker pink
In lips was like the repetition of
The gold there on the cup. The plain must slink
Away from beauty like this made for love.
..The little boy with the solemn face
….Is like the unicorn in beauty’s place.
