Ode, Dear

Loot at you, mister Too Good to be True!
With each passing day grows the illusion that I know you.
What you are to me, the eye cannot see,
though you shall never hear me complain of the view.

Thus is my feeling for you misunderstood.

My movie star, to me you are
before all else, a man, and human, and imperfect and good.
You are no hero, nor would I wish you so.
Never would I demand more of you than I do of myself.

Worship and reverence are not part of who I am.

Your paradox is this, that you are
unreachable, and different, and too lovely
and pedestrian, and sensible, and silly.

And so what is wrong with writing odes to a man
who is not greater than the rest, but in the ways that matter to me?
Should I not adore you because you are human?

For I can think of no better reason to love a man.


Photo: IHJ.