Errors of Beauty
       

So much for the sublime, he said,
            pulling on his jeans, left leg, right leg,
                        until, fully clothed, he surveyed

a tableau titled 'stupid metaphors
            of desire' or 'nothing good will come
                        of this.' Despite how many years

of practice, the present tense insisted
            on residing in the details—did it
                        with my body, said the pillowcase,

mildly embroidered. A cup of water
            could be seen to quiver occasionally,
                        the surface tension broken

by a motion not its own. Permanently
            disturbed by passion, the room
                        rearranged its pieces—

all, that is, but the one left sprawled
            on the sheets. In its abandon,
                        that body never changed.

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Copyright © 2019 Ann Townsend All rights reserved
from Five Points
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission