Dearest lover, stroke my hair.
Pull the thread which binds me,
strip me bare
of pretence, which I've layered on.
Stare upon me,
See me wrong.

See the burnt out hair,
the un-smoothed skin,
masked with the care
of unknown sin.
My green eyes guarded within
their painted black,
the legs, though shapely,
lack
the never-ending stream of gold,
instead look icy, pale and cold.
Look upon it,
Stare upon me.

Now press, accept, my quivering lips to thine,
that once more I may claim myself mine.