No time for intimate introductions,
I simply have no name.
I am a busted lip,
a bruised back bone,
a scraped knee.
My image is not always as beautiful
as the inner contents of my mind.
My thought is not always as luminous and simple
as its outer shell.
I am a lingering headache,
the result of immoral divine intervention.
I am most alluring through his secret eyes
and false fantasies.
I will live forever by the virtue of art.