To the girl dolled up
with headphones hung effortlessly
about her neck.
Did your nose piercing hurt
with the sting of disapproval?
Did the ink flowers etched in your arms
prick with the blood of disappointment?
I ask because,
standing beneath the yellow bulb
in the hubbub of a pub
at nine pm, in an evening dress,
black kohl and burgundy lipstick
drawing eyes from all sides,
I, think you look beautiful.
I envy the smile you wear
plastered joy and nonchalance,
like Winter’s breath, the cool air
wrapped around your waltz
through the double doors,
shoulders poised without care.
I ask, because as others stare,
to me you look happy and I,
I think you look beautiful.