Nothing, absolutely nothing,
will ever best the splendor of the human body.
Look at the skyline on its inky canvas.
Your ribs are the hills,
your eyes are newborn stars burning blue,
and your spine is the barely perceivable curvature of the earth.
Your nails are splintering spring ice,
and your skin in the crust of earth on which we wander.
Your body’s crimson waters are more vibrant than any tide.
Yes, relief is not for the living–
engraved in our beings are things lost,
what might have been, like initials on a tree.
Yet no matter how tragic,
there is not anything that will ever be capable
of usurping the wonder of your existence.
Your breath is everything virtuous,
and your smile is change on the horizon.
You are the blackest ink,
the most damned in the world.