the thing is,
you aren't magnificent.
my mind isn't laced,
with the thought of you.
there is no rarity,
beaming from behind your eyes;
no slight shimmer of a marvel,
beaneath the surface of your skin.
falling in line with those ahead,
and those behind:
you bore me.

if i was given a chance to pull back,
your carefully sealed unexceptional flesh,
would i see and feel something,
i was unaware you possessed?
a tiny glimmer of unprecedented original beauty,
an unknown personal outlet
exemplifying fearless individualism?
...or would i be disappointed,
by the nearly hollow expected interior,
singularly displaying a rudimentary *** drive,
and the unimaginative blueprints,
on how to fulfill it.