Push back that limp piece of hair behind the thinness of your ears
and look at yourself full on, no make-up, or mask, or paint or picture
just DNA,
yours.

I see waves of songs and lyrics attached to flesh, can you hear it?
That transcendental vocal  like a babies cry and a mother tender eye,
a demise too immortal for human opinion.

But I know you hear it too, the other sound of lies that are inescapable
and so pungent it turns milk sour and crushes noses
you take small bites, and pretend to dance
as you listen to that melody as if it was truth

but darling its not truth,
for the acne scars, and full lips, the birthmarks and stolen hips,
flat chest, and dent of skin, is beautiful to me cause I see what's flowing from within