A poem inspired by this post by the adorable Lady Pandorah
To the world you are immaculate:
clothes chic, unique; jewellery
just so, no more; make-up
merely defining what is
already there; and that
wonderful hair so
touchstone of your public self.
So I am blessed to see that hair so
beautifully dishevelled as your
flushed face emerges from the
rucked sheets, a sly smile on your
sweaty face, a faint
trickle of my pleasure
serving as lipstick.