Beauty mark

What a triumph it is

To truly love something

About your own 

Body.

Before the crash and

Burn,

I remember turning to him

as we drove by

Our ocean,

and posing to him-

Which one of my moles

Do you like the best?

He was smiling

Anyway and said

I love it too...

And I knew

The end.

Painting by August Macke, 'Couple at the garden table' c. 1914, in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

Beauty Mark

 

You see,

I was the passenger,

I once taught him-a gentleman

always lets his lady in

first-

Anyway, 

he must do this 

still.

I wonder 

when I knew

I wonder if

I was blinded

by a reflection

or the sun.

His profile

blocked

my view 

of the ocean at sunset

this warm evening

after treating me

to join him at one of the

places

He drinks and dines

regularly.

His shades on, left elbow propped outside 

his Jeep window,

a lit cigarette in hand 

and typical

scowl on his face. 

I was the one

that broke the silence,

usually,

he broke promises,

always.

My voice cracked through the granulated air,

I'm supposed to make a list

of 100 things

I like about myself.

Turning to me 

abruptly 

he laughed heartedly

It's hard- I said humbly.

I bet, he mumbled 

awkwardly

while looking far away.

After another silence

grew thick 

My moles, I even listed them-

Name some-

thing 

you like about me?

He did not respond

Until 

taking a deep drag and

flicking his ash, 

with emphasis

I like your mole too...

In the backdrop behind him,

the horizon cast dying rays 

of violent pink and orange-gold

Truimphant

over all

marking this blissful moment 

of Beauty 

missed

by one.

Artist: Gaston Bussière (1862-1928), Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.