To J.K., who doesn’t know yet. With apologies to Robert Burns
My love is like a turkey egg
freckled, face and arm and leg
His sharp green eyes,
sweet, shy, and fierce
my soft heart
through and through to pierce
He has a bald spot
on his crown
that makes me look
and linger down
a reminder of
the nude below,
the parts that I
do not yet know
For he is sweet
and good
and kind
and funny
and smart
that, so far, he doesn't see
the glorious possibility
of all my love
that will ever be
for his unconscious hand and eye
Look up, my love, and let me try.