On the Face of it

Behind the curtains of affectation
beneath the mask of stolen skin
between the sheets of spurious adulation
there is a man whose ashen grin
splits wide the veil upon his front
to something like a soul alight
while still his pretence bears the brunt
of reverence and odium both alike.

The fire of his élan electrifies.
The sparkle in his eye invites.
The image of himself he paints belies
the man concealed in all plain sight.
A kiss, a fuck, a valentine
from every aching-hearted fan
Aren't worthy of this ivory shine
this irrepressible, effusive mask upon the man.