They Tell Me You're No Toad Poem by Jackie Chou

I'm aware you're not short and stout.
There are no warts,
no greenness on your skin.

For this precise reason I'm angry-
at your hotness,
your handsomeness,
you hunk junk.

Your looks have warranted you
a place on my mattress,
where you slumber all day
like Sleeping Beauty.

Your loveliness has shielded you
from the winds and rains
of my tongue,
which can only utter sweetness
at the sight of you.

There are books, futures,
where I shall bury my head,
not just your fine, muscular chest.

Oceans where I shall swim,
not just the reflective pools
of your brown eyes.

Oh, Adonis, Narcissus,
when will you venture
beyond your face in the looking glass?