Classic Poem

So we have a face
Cupped by tender insolences,
Half-repenting insolences
Teasing their own angers.
Then, a tense exuberance
Brushes them away
And burns a humbly erect
Queen upon her face.
This happens in the space
Between a frown and uncertainty.
Her face becomes forlornly wild,
And a beggarly impatience
Hovers into furtive shame.
All the supplely intricate flame
Vanishes, and leaves no mark.
Her eyes are violently dark
With a hopeless waiting.
Her lips are isolated shreds—
All that is left of shattered recreating.
Then, as quickly as she fled,
The humble queen returns.
Staring and unappeased
She eyes her crumpled hands.