Miss Perfect,
how do you look?
Be you made of plastic
or would that be wood?
Do thy possess no flaws
in your manicured grasp,
or that slight suave
of swaying hips?
Will you laugh openly to a bad joke
or cover and deliver a short giggle, upon poised perch?
And when you speak
do words float out, candied
or are your game to show a side of humanity? Or perhaps, Miss Feisty?
Should I concede, now and again
that beauty is as far as eyes can see?
Guided by sweetened words and batting eyes?
Cause that woman down the corner,
with neigh perfect smile
nor stance and swaying hips
to look upon you and compare
as though orange to strawberry?
Can that woman not claim an ounce of beauty,
for wearing her heart of gold
on her sleeve?

(Inspired by conversation between two people.)