Her face Sour A washed out ugly gray Similar to that of dishwater With greenish clumps That closely resemble Expired milk clods For eyes
Her hair Worn out An expanse of stringy greased mess As if she’d dunked it into a fry cook’s sink With the occasionally highlight Of a darker, muddy brown Like Mother Nature gave up on a painting And left her
Her body Frail A structure of porous bones and blood A once pure white soiled with brownish red speckles The devoured remains of a media wolf’s snack Unable to really hold itself up It shudders and shakes constantly Sort of like a hypothermic deadbeat
So undeniably ugly Disgusting feeble and poor Yet somehow Against what all the yet of you see I see something gorgeous Something that could be loved What I see in her I love