truth is beauty, beauty truth-- this is
all white-lied in honest mouths, in hair
that smells like dye, the eyes, the parted pair
of reddened lips. what's hers is small, is his,
is gleaned from tired fields. the tabled salt
from turning back, the pillared woman who misses
home. she cries, and dries his feet, and kisses
skin of man and nothing more. still she exalts
the matriarch, the gloried slut, with beads
that turn in hands like spinning wheels. the chore
of love comes vain with pride: her face, her skin,
the halo bright with silver gild. she bleeds
in time, she waits to serve again. her core
is lost in white, the unoriginal sin.