Your hair is sunlight
Illuminating your face
Strands like fingers
Supplying
Sweet caresses
To your skin
Of silken lace
Mine is brittle
Whose strands betray
And belittle
The pulp that lies
Beneath my eyes
Flesh ruddy and hostile
Your breath kisses the wind
Mine is stained with the scent
Of cigarettes and sin
I have lived amongst men
But love only women
You love none
More than yourself
And display your body
For a living
I display my mind
And am a dying monument
To life upon the shelf
Your eyes shine like cerulean
And the diamonds you wear
Suggest the wealth of your talent
If only I could rest my head
Between your breast’s
Heaves of submission
And be reborn as beauty
Love, truth
And death in remission
You are an illustrated woman
Your flesh frames
Each picture you portray
So, I read you with a lascivious look
Devour your painted form
Like an open book
And then I look again
And imagine
That you have stamped
My library card of a heart
With a kiss of approval
But you are no more real
Than the love I feel
When I gaze at photographs
Of you
For you are young
And I am too old and ugly
To be loved by one
As beautiful as you
