I’ll be a masterpiece. I’ll change the way you see. I’ll jog your memory of how beautiful the world can be. I’ll be there to point at– slack-jawed as you pick apart– details you mistook for flaws. I’ll be there to gaze at– to monitor– awestruck in wonder. Fawned over. Breath-stealing. Obsession– never lover. The work of art making eyes at a busboy through stained glass windows– saying hi to old ladies in truck stop mirrors. The rarity– who hides in empty tissue boxes with a sore throat. Standing in rain just too warm to be snow. The vision– who makes a home in the nest of sheets on the bed that used to be Mother’s. The miracle– who defaced the headboard with Scotch-taped paint samples and polaroids of Sister and Brother. The star– who wonders about visiting them in the next room. How I long to be your muse. See me in flesh– fall to your knees. Be graced by the touch of my hand and sing– “My Perfect– my lungs– Oh, my blessed eyes!” “My beloved– my Saint– Oh, my divine!”