The masses are covered in gloss
And makeup that does not make up
For Imperfections
My reflection
Is my religion
My poetry
Is where I begin
You used to be where I end
My back is what used to bend
My bank account is what I used to spend
And then
I was there
At a destination that happened to be nowhere
No place, your hair, your face, you are not aware
You left a poet drunk
And in despair
This poem is about you
And I hope you read it anywhere