Interlude I

Sensless parades of boxes of bowels all dolled up and winking to rot 
(the void run down their switched-off soakles) 
Is this your way to beauty? 
(and something you may call a „smile" appears on my face) 
You look at me and wonder if your eyes are lying about my unworedly features 
(don't touch me please) 
That you devoure like manwholes and regurgitate all in filthy forms. 
Please don't touch me with your gaze or the grace that rules my shape will fade 
(don't touch me please)