Built like an ox, limbs like redwood, skin like burnished gold, a crescent moon grin. The snapshot for lustful eyes. But I wonder, how the burnished gold has not a scratch from the life that isn't on display, how the crescent moon chases away the crawling shadows of dark, lonely nights, how your body - chiseled to perfection only shows strength cast in a florescent glow. The frame of metal seems like a pedestal that never breaks. Do they love you or just the face on glossy paper that never ages?