Unregeneracy

Head
straight away from the sun.
The pretty one
with the yellow hair
turns her face aside.
The faint call of prayer
dissipates into silence.

Those who are drawn
to what is beautiful
flock to it, to be
rubbed, have flecks of it
on skin, crowd around
push their bodies into
prominence, await their chance.

Head straight into the shadow,
for unpopular, smaller, sadder, softer
darker default places,
don't be eager.

Never an eager kiss,
every kiss a bargain,
these don't last
but add to the inventory of
calm incremental love
in the shade without the shouts.