Lost to the sight of a tourist of splendour and gloss
Is the backstreet beauty forbidden from boulevards
Wrinkles rippling under green and grown-up eyes
Threaten the thrill of postponed resurrection to some
Crevasses, here and there, in crooks and crannies of skin,
Speak the spite of spots from rougher youth removed with rage
Stains from tears of pain and fear, freezed to freckles,
Hide to non-believers faces that smile in gaps of dots
Lips alight with little scarlet lustre, never as big as a mouth,
Look aloof and shy of shameful lust to fanatics of fantasies
The crown of hair, a blend of brown and fair, an auburn aura
Shades the crest of shoulders shining under shawls of creed
The bosom’s breath, buttoned up behind embroidery’s delicacies
Lacks the weight of womanhood assumed in times of lesser men
The humble hips just hint at widths within the reach of hugs
But short of hype and higher heels they draw a haughty shrug
Never mind the woes and whining would-be aesthetes theorise
Their patents over women’s worth are blind to plausible beauty