Delightfully disproportionate features
form the basis of your face;
For your ears are neither here nor there –
they’re lost in the forest of your lustrous hair;
Whilst your eyes are disguised
by brows of deep brown,
that creep together when you frown
across the bridge that exists on the ridge of your nose,
where they greet each other with a rigid kiss
that just grows and grows and grows…

And on your cheeks your crow’s
feet lie listlessly, yet move their toes insistently
to show the world explicitly
that of course they don’t agree with
all that applesauce you speak of
with that mumbling mouth of yours, that’s
flanked by fading lips which still gaily get to grips
with a jumble of uncouth words
all hung on a whipcord tongue that can suddenly become
as soft and smooth as spun silk.

Cause you’re the only one of your ilk;
A defective manifestation
of a masterpiece of creation;
A random representation
and a precise personification.
You’re a filter-free reflection
of every furtive fault in me, drawn
with delectable imperfection –
and that’s just how you should be.