15 September 2012
Two red dots smeared on my lips,
White powder polishes my cheeks,
A pink tutu pulled up to my hips,
And my French perfume reeks,
My hair pulled tightly by a ring,
My cold hands masked by gloves,
My leg warmers stick to my shin,
My vest of feathers from the doves,
My contacts are searching my eyes,
My nails are sparkling too much,
But I will be their perfect prize,
To their lives, I will add my touch,
My Touch • Opuss № I