Whom I Adore

Her lips are razor thin, her smile is nasty,
Her attitude is itself cruelty,
Her skin is flaky like a Cornish pasty,
But her nails are everything to me.
She swears exactly like a drunken sailor,
Her greasy hair lies both uncombed and flat,
She’s been at odds with dressmaker and tailor
All through the last six years. Yes, she’s like that.
My arms and back are raw, and badly scarred,
Her bowlegs cry her personality,
She never lets me kiss her — soft or hard —
But I’m safe in my unreality.
Her eyes won’t level, her grip is terrible,
And losing her would be unbearable.