David McLansky

(5/24/1944 / New York City)

You, the Object of my Art


You, the object of my art,
Laugh at praise from out my heart;
Call me crazy, a fool obsessed
When I tell you how, with you, I'm blessed.

My love, herself, thus does disprize
The beauty I hold in my eyes;
The aching wonder that I feel
Is painted common, called unreal.

By artless grace, you tantalize,
To so disgrace that which I prize;
You augment as you mesmerize
The beauty that your lips deny.

Submitted: Tuesday, April 01, 2014
Edited: Tuesday, April 01, 2014

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