Pictures At An Exhibition

A still shot, water droplets stopped, midair;
sun, incandescent, rainbow on their skins,
and I, when I first see those eyes, and stare,
stop breathing: life ironically begins
when you are yanked from merely being on.
Confronted with an existential pulse:
Her! No one else! No masterpiece yet drawn
can rival her. My want, a flock of gulls.
I hunger, noisy, caution to the wind.
She's looking back -- oh, what a precious crumb!
My dreams are not yet dashed, but they are pinned
on hope, irrational, that she'd succumb.
What miracle life is, how sweet its bite,
to give us lust, and lovers at first sight