My Endless Time-Machine [sonnet]
By beauty do not let yourself be fooled.
I mean the outward sort (not from within),
upon which many foolish men have drooled;
for glamour’s not the way love should begin.
Even demons make themselves seem charming
and will impersonate a shiny coat
to their advantage (so, then, disarming).
For over human weaknesses they gloat.
Thus now whenever beauty comes my way
in human form, I smile and check my heart.
My X-ray vision then comes into play
to pierce through skin into a deeper part.
When beauty comes from somewhere that’s unseen,
then love flows in my endless time-machine.
© Alan Morrison, 2016
The Naked Troubadour 