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?