Homeless Beauty
/A poem I wrote at a street festival while watching a young homeless man play frisbee.
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Money monger gaze toward
amber-orange long locks, some
fall onto a patch of
backside hairs, and some
hang above rose-colored eyes that
look beyond a crimson cringed nose.
Drop on down
bawlin’ flaxen teeth, some
lost for a love of
sweet chances, but some
linger above a chin cleft that
unites paths before a butter breast plate.
Crease once and again-
melon meat belly, some
flesh faces airs of
dulcet liberties, and some
rest on teeter-tatter torn denim that
cradles amber-orange curly locks.
By Lisa Michel
From: United States