You held me tightly in a warm embrace
and told me I was beautiful.
You are such a liar.
There’s the sunset in Boracay,
a child laughing,
the bubbles in a glass of champagne,
Puccini’s Humming Chorus in Madame Butterfly,
the grand expanse of the Pacific Ocean
as seen from the shores of Calicoan in Samar,
a flame tree in full bloom,
a dancer in arabesque with her eyes gently closed,
a little lamb with his mother, grazing in the fields,
an old couple, together for the last forty years,
sharing a kiss in the garden where they met,
a double rainbow,
the scent of fresh mint leaves —
all these beautiful things;
how could I compare?
You are a liar.
A flash of lightning in the dark
making jagged trails across the night sky,
what of my temporal beauty
could match such a moment?
How can I be beautiful
when I am nothing but this moment,
never lasting longer than the grip of memory
and vestiges of longing
so easily lost
when the next one comes along.