Her face was a canvas
A pool of colours, all
Part of the symphony
Textured in beauties
That peddled for money
Brushed-on blushes, oh
My finger could dimple
Her face and multiple
Colours gush from the vent
I bet her heart was synthetic
As well
She was a well told lie
Only time could kill
As night approaches for
A wet wipe to become dutiful
Smooth as china
I get scared she could break
And her freckles all obscured
By layers of foundation
Just a handkerchief
Could restore her face to
Factory settings.
Sweat her greatest adversary,
Just a wipe off and half
Her beauty is gone
An innocent hug from her
And your impeccable robe
Tainted by her painted face
Yet she was a verb
In her true unsullied nature
A gift for my phrasal soul
Without contours and bronzer
And her sweat comes off effortlessly
Without being trapped behind
Glowy cheeks forming pimples
@harrywill