OBJECTIVE

You say I don't think about you

the real you

a whole you

the soul of you.

You say I treat you like an object.

How ridiculous.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

I do not treat you like an object

I treat you like many.

Your hair

so long, so lush

like liquid, lolling down your head

frames your eyes:

green, deep

bright and beautiful

above the pert perfect nose

which rests upon your lips�

damn.

You are a series of features

a cornucopia of quality collectibles

brought together

with symphonic precision.

Betty Russell breasts

a swat from waist to hips that takes me to the Sahara

only wet.

Legs that � legs that

legs that� I'm sorry. What was I saying?

Oh! To say that I think of you

only as an object

a thing to stare at

an item of desire

is absurd

and short-sighted

and, well, just wrong.

I do not think of you as AN object.

Not by a long shot.

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