I am the mask, satin-smooth,
As fine as gossamer silk.  
I glide like a veil of falling snow
Over cracks, over fissures
Filling every nook and cranny
That mars this blemished world.  
Beneath the gaze of man,
I am an enigma, a subtle glamour.  
I am the rosy hue of the ripest apples,
A painted glance that cuts to the heart.  
I am both light and darkness,
The faint memory of a kiss.
I am a thing of perfection
But only look – never touch!