Mask Maker

Make me the face.
Take time to do it right.
The smile has to be crooked
And the sly curl hinged.

There must be a dot.
That's the right cheek.
They call it a beauty mark.

Dark circles surround the eyes.
Violins strike chords into the
chin.

Music sweetly drifts from the nose
And the lips tremble with beauty and noise.

Mark me here!
The mask must be perfect as to my every imperfection!
Lullabies must scar my brow.
Display that good intention in my nostril
and that great fear in my lashes.

Target that melancholy song.
And my face will commit to you
All that you ever wanted.