A secret fire lit obvious eyes in an
empty wasteland
The sparks that triggered the flame
Were brought on by the natural imperfection
Of human features
She wore no mask
And hid behind no ill-written fantastical verse
She didn’t make you think of porcelain
Or finely chosen ink
Not even the intoxicating scent of roses
In an empty wasteland there was rough skin
A freckled nose
Eyelashes reflecting scorching sun rays
In an empty wasteland
What else was there to admire
But the vertical object that stood
Proud and youthful
Curious
Stone-like and uneasily phased
Child of an empty wasteland?