I knew the shoulder’s anatomy;
how it worked on curves, the joint’s smooth rig,
the elegant roll of the pulley
that preceded Newton’s boltless bridge.
I had focused on the eyes though,
or the places love can act
with the lights out, where the smile
is like a curtain drawing back.
Perhaps it’s simply that until your shoulders shone
last night when you wore that dress
that was a chalky halo draped around your chest,
their skin so young, a field unsown,
a God unphotographed, lost continents from lore –
I had never realised how beautiful your shoulders were before.