Your Perfect Body
Propped up against the pillows to be admired
Arranged on your face, a self-indulged smile
Your perfect body, not a scar nor a bruise
A strangely waxen exhibit to prove –
Nothing can touch you
But you’re touching me!
You’re sealed like an envelope on planet vanity
Intangible yet feeding on my scabs and wounds
Self-absorbed detecting with cold marble hands
Attracted to yourself you do not make love to me
Your perfect body masturbates in company.
Frances Livings © 2007