I found this poem recently through I think a reference on Twitter or Tumblr.
My favorite lines are:
"in thy beauty is the dilemma of flutes"
"thy legs are the trees of dreaming
- fun story - in a different life - I was nearly a professional flute player, it was my first major in college
whose fruit is the very eatage of forgetfulness"
The words are pretty -- but what does he think of her?
He's saying, I think, that she's brain dead.
I think if I was his love I'd be insulted...