Transmogrification

You have perfected the art of smiling without smiling.

It's strange,

simply an unemotional purse of the lips to show nothing

but the skin around your mouth, turned slightly up at the corners.

I guess it creates dimples where there were none.

But it gives me an impression

that I don't like. It's as if you were frowning,

or in pain.

Why this moue I don't know, when you could be

perfectly beautiful showing the brilliant crescent

of your teeth, shining, spontaneous.

Not content with perfecting your smile, you

move upwards to your eyes.

Large enough to fill your face, why must they

be made larger still? Muscles, magic tricks,

colors and shadows - you would use them all.

But for what purpose, exactly? Those eyes.

Your eyes, are eyes I could fall into anytime,

even if you woke up bleary-eyed still from sleep, it

would take only one gaze to have me

captivated, a slave.

But now, you have drawn bold black

curtains over the windows to your soul. Shall I

rub your panes clean to expose once more

your natural beauty? Or shall I leave you cloistered

in your painted mourning?

I watch you flounder amidst your costumes,

burrowing through a mountain of fabric

as though amongst all that leather, silk, lace,

cotton, denim, satin, spandex(oh yeah!), orgies of

linen, you could find yourself, and wear your heart

like haute couture. But have you

forgotten already? Ton coeur est dans

mes mains, and as I stand here

watching your now half-transformed beauty

become familiar, I cannot help but

wonder at you.

You who were beautiful.

How could you not be content

with being so?

For a beautiful girl.