Under her face
somewhere under there
was her face, though
she didn’t show it often
I’d seen it before
in the morning light
before the sun skewed
her senses and
she’d cover it up with lies
littered with freckles
hard jaw and subtle age lines
as if two crows took a tango
on the corners of her brown eyes
and when she’d turn
away from the mirror, falling
effortlessly into my arms
I could barely hold her up
for she was far more strong
than any weight I could bear
and her face made that clear
as she’d slowly cover up
everything that made
her beautiful.
Great poem!
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Thanks. Be well.
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Beautiful, man!
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