The self-obsessed he

THE SELF-OBSESSED HE

Minutes pass as he lingers over coffee,

“How do you prefer it?” he asks, then,

“How was it? Was it good or bad?”

Not a word to his beloved;

Her curls, perfectly resting

Upon her delicate forehead, go unnoticed.

In the garden,

A bird with a long tail and slender beak

Perches, observing scattered clouds so meek.

He sees none of this, lost in shallow thought.

He fails to see the maiden beside him,

Her new dress, beautifully draped, seeks to charm.

Instead, his gaze wanders, aimlessly adrift.

At the beach,

He sprawls alone on the sandy strand,

His eyes fixed on the waves’ endless hand.

He counts the boats and ships beyond reach,

His thoughts adrift, far from the shore.

In her swimsuit, subtle and neat,

Her curves she discreetly conceals;

He—a shell, enclosed in his solitude,

Though she sits nearby—a beauty unperceived.