Indelicacy regarding all else.
Flagrant and fragrant in ass perfume.
The exhaust reminiscent of roses he assumes
Rice paper soul.
Manufactured by design.
A thing of perfection is a terrible thing to waste.
Yet all you do is discard those who care for you.
Like custom plates on a wedding day
To serve a solitary purpose and thrown away.
Pre-owned napkins are not for sale in your little lot.
You will wither one day.
Your memory will fade
Appendages will droop.
What to do when perfection wanes!
Will you throw yourself away?
How can the delicate genius endure his own decay?