Francis Santaquilani


Acne Vulgaris


Bow your head, angel,
Guide my lips to your crown,
Keep them far from your face,
Far from the battleground.

All the kisses to your face,
Eleven years worth, stockpiled,
Can't stop the threat.
The medicine,

Not my love,
Will save your beauty.
It'll fight for your beauty to the death.
If your face should catch fire,

I promise, I promise,
Your eyes will dance around the heat and
Your smile will bloom through the flames.
God loves you, I love you.

We both know my dream of perfection for
You is dead, yet we talk of it until
Our eyes cloud over, our voices fade
And your hand slides from my palm.

You'll have to work so hard, so hard to
Rekindle the vision I had for you. Trash the
Talk of inner beauty, love and the glow from
Within, I'd sell your soul to guarantee you

Perfect skin. Forgive me in advance for
Imagining you at your worst while you're at
Your best, for walking with you hand in hand
And imagining your face turned inside out.

Submitted: Wednesday, October 19, 2005

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  • Rookie - 72 Points Scotty Dogg (12/13/2011 9:05:00 PM)

    Terrible poem! Good job! You're old and ugly I'll bet. Look in the mirror, Lady. (Report) Reply

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