Your filthy hands touch mine,

Fresh, fragrant and smooth

No comparison to your own

Your lips, chapped and torn

Brush against the glossy cover of mine

Unwashed, tattered clothes dress your person

Gucci and Dior pressed up close

Yet still, I do not judge

I do not judge your unclean teeth,

The taste of your foul breath

I judge the person that you are

But who am I again?

Some priestess you wish to worship

For all my nice new things,

Or am I just the woman

Who makes your heart leap and sing?