I suppose that you know that Maria remains the most
Beautiful woman I've ever known. I suppose that you
Know that I spy her each week at work, but, alas, I'm
Becoming jaded. I see her in passing now. We don't
Often speak. I can't gaze for long at her face, so my
Knowledge that she is perfection incarnate is of little
Use. There are days when I forget to look, and she
Passes unnoticed, this vision of beauty. She may as
Well dwell in a shuttered museum, and I may as well
Not have eyes.