By the spinning of genes through the ages
no fate is ever the same.
Some receive beauty’s blessing.

I saw a boy at the bus stop
Oscar Wilde would have died for
that full sensual lip with a curve
and that nose, so defined,
and the girl with the sultry eyes
by the blue open door.
I was floored.
She’s the trace of a rose incarnate.
Where are such faces created?

Do angels fall down from above,
and are they gifted also with Love?
I think they’re not.