In an electrifying mist, I would perceive you as perfection / And I would choose my painting hand over nature, over and over again / The filter of flattery reviews the torn skin, the retouch of dew over shrinking petals / The fondling of all the little flaws, their disturbing feel under the fingers turning to wonderful smoothness with every stroke / And as I lie on my stomach over the carpet of unfinished roughness / Filling in each and every bump with the finesse of my nude-colored pencil / The beauty mark marks the spot, not with an "X" / But with a redefining mask that hides the clumsy lips under a playful smirk / Artificial beauty as a process of belief / In life after self