She was a show-stopper, a heart-breaker,
A porcelain doll, always perfect and proper.
He was her friend, her confidante,
Uncontrollably in love, but too afraid to touch her.
One day, she was gone
T’was past midnight, no text message or call.
He sat there wondering, is she with another man?
One more deserving of her elegance and charm?
Suddenly there was a weak knock at the door,
His stomach churned as his angel’s eyes he bore.
Grimed and bleeding,
She lay crumpled to the floor.
He cleaned her wounds, and washed her face
And noticed for the very first time,
The wrinkles under her mascara-smudged eyes,
The small freckles on her cheeks usually hidden under pink blush,
The scar on the nape of her neck, old and deep and dramatic.
Always concealed under wisps of foundation.
The frown on her brow created crevasses in her soft, white skin.
He stood stunned.
In her imperfection, she had never looked more beautiful.
He made love to her like never before.
