More

Some times at dawn

while she slept and the nightmares

left her still,

I would gaze upon her

and think

how beautiful she was.

Maybe her hips were too wide,

her breasts too small

or her nose to straight

and her eyes

too far apart but

I loved her

more

for all of it.

She was seventeen and

I was twenty-one

and punk rock was in

violent savage bloom.

She looked younger

than seventeen by three

or maybe four years

and some men liked that.

Old and desperate men

willing to pay to

violate their nieces

and daughters.

Every night she would

leave me, returning

in the dark morning

with bountiful gifts

of liquor and drugs

Though we shared

body and sweat

our fixes were

always kept separate.

One day she said

“We need more money.”

but neither of us

could wait for weeks

on my paycheck.

"I have friends

who can show you

where to stand."

and she handed me

latex sheaths and

applied make-up to

my sleepless eyes.

Oh, my so imperfect

but so beautiful young lady, I never

loved you too much

but perhaps

I should have

hated you

?more.