Woman Poem by Hayley Lewis

My dear, sweet, vulgar one
You are as rank as Thames water
On a summers day
Your face enough
To drive priests away
Eyes sagged below your neck
Your breasts
Well...not the best

But through your cracked skin
And mottled flesh
Is the woman I want
To lay to rest
Under bags
And ghastly clothes
Beyond your most un-comly nose
Lies the soul to which I surrender
Body, mind, and make-up vendor

And though the bed is fit to break
You belong there
Make no mistake
So, my love, and widened doors
Huge disfigured, gaping pours
Unstable, fractured bungalow floors
Loathsome creature, I am yours