Facade

Façade, I ask what it is, 

yet you turn around as a magical photograph

in black-white-gray colors.

Your head turning smoothly, 
crumbling your white shirt to wrinkles. 
Your hair though, couldn’t be more like a cliché,
just like mermaid hair, 
with the exception that your hair is a voyage, 
long and everlasting as the oceans can be, 
tiring yet delicious when tasted right.
You are voluptuous; you create unwanted
yet gratifying ripples of streams down 
my mouth, my eyes, and heart. 
You control my “off-and-on” switch, 
you can change the switch with one slight touch 
of your delicate small yet powerful soft hands.

“Façade, is what you ask of me?” you say…I am all but Façade in your dreams.