The most beautiful lips in the world belonged to a girl
whose golden locks had yet to twirl
as they would when she unfurled.
Her generous hips happened to sway
in a long and a round quite lovely way.
But the beat of her heart and the heat of the day
kept her apart, so we started to pray.
Her jeans full of rips and her little brown shoes
let us all know she had nothing to lose.
But then her smile came along, keeping us glued,
along with a frown and an attitude.
When she dialed up the smile, we took a great breath;
when she put on the frown, it felt just like death.
And so, we conclude, by perceptions alone,
that the girl had her lips but we had our own.
And we must come to grips with those we enthrone.