Mona Lisa

Write you my soul, penance for shortcomings--
I've plenty of those and yet I'm poor.
Not a dime, but two dimples. Faint indentations,
That serve well enough to get me by.
I hush myself, to spare my pride.

More than a face, more than peaches and cream.
Can you see me, or has the fog intruded?
Deceptive mist, but not quite clever.
Am I dancing yet, this woman, do I float--
Before your eyes?

Intriguing your sense of elegance
Straight to your vital signs.
I implore you, erase me, my mark is--
Vain enough, thus far. No, rather keep me.
Frame me if you'd like.

A frozen smile. Entreating your eyes
With the only barter I've ever known.
Pleasant, still. An artifact? No. A memory.
A voice that quieted your nightmares;
A touch that eased your pain.