Wake up.
How do those glassy eyes
Fit on that porcelain skin?
A perfect blue
A perfect you
Made by this knife and pin.
How are those locks of golden mane
Cascading down your back?
The bosom big
The buttocks small
There’s nothing you don’t lack
But wait, mistake, a tiny slip
We’re lucky to have caught
You have the face
You have the frame
But heart we have forgot.
-12/7/07
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem