Wednesday, October 14, 2015


We are photo-shopped wraiths
Manicured, groomed mannequins
Reality is become conceptual
We may even no longer be human
We make love in the dark by touch
Lest the light reveal us impostors
With unruly design and blemish
And how easily we are swayed
When after all; our imperfection
Is the only thing to make us unique