Greek Aurora in a Pure Cloud Sky
He’s white and dressed in white. His linen shirt
Saps wrinkles from his face and otherwise
There’s not a spot of sweatiness or dirt.
He might as well be marble, brotherwise
To still Apollo on a plinth, although
These shoulders are like Ganymede’s, too small,
Unlike a man’s, more like the beau
Of Zeus. This student youth sits sure and tall
Like Rhadamanthys, judging down in hell
And has the beauty of a young Tom Cruise
But makes decisions that don’t have a smell
Outside research. These lips and cheeks refuse
Traducement. Chocolate is his eyebrow crest.
Blue eyes insist, though, “Vanilla is best.”