Burnished brass,
Buffed & clean;
Kissed by cotton,
Rouge & wings.
Born a rude,
Uncertain partner:
Dull & dirty,
Feelin’ awkward.
Did you think
You’d stay
That way?
Nay!
Your lost allure
Shanghaies the eyes
Of gifted Angels —
& their spit-shine.
“Get to work,” they shout,
From lofty clouds.
“There’s royalty trapped
’neath the Reaper’s Shroud!”
Lavishly spreading
Lemon & salt,
Swapping force
For gentle Gestalt.
Abrase (not abuse) —
Next on the list.
Followed by soaks
In a vinegar mist.
Oh, burnished brass,
So shiny & new;
Is splendor worth
The pain you’ve been through?
