Days into nights

I saw you

on that stage,

wearing false paint

on your already-

glowing face

and silly glittering

heels strapped to

your tiny

doll’s feet.

You swayed and

rocked in some

skimpy costume

and your hair was

always coiffured

immaculately.

But then one day

I saw you just arrive

in the parking lot

to work,

wearing faded

jogging pants

and a dollar-store

sweat shirt,

and no make-up

at all, with your

hair pillow-fresh

and falling free–

that’s when

you looked

most lovely

to me.

 

— fyodor bukowski, author of MAIL-ORDER ANNIE

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