Aquiline

She sat across the room from me,
Her locks of jet black
Raining down the sides of her face.
But it was not her trickling curls
That weaved my gaze onto her.
Nor was it her smile,
Which seemed to be aimed at me,
Glistening like sunlight
Reflecting off a new snow.
Those were merely afterthoughts,
Though by no means any less remarkable to me.
My attention was drawn to the feature
Between her eyes.
I had never seen a nose more regal.
They call it a Roman nose,
Its high, prominent bridge
Shared by Caesar, Napoleon, Ramses
And myself.
When I look in the mirror,
I see a disfigured proboscis,
But on her face it conforms
To the rest of her divine proportions.
As I break my stare to return to my obscurity,
I briefly think of our noses grazing
But for a moment
In an Eskimo embrace, as we kiss.