My muse is smooth, with ivory complexion.
Her full, pouty lips point in my direction.
Her face is chiseled; no make-up required.
Her beauty's breathtaking, never expired.
She would look stunning draped in leather or lace.
She has a renown, youthful, "commercial" face.
She inspires me with her gaze of intrigue.
She displays no sign of boredom or fatigue.
She does not care about what others think.
She holds a nonchalant stance, won't flinch or blink.
She does not argue, nor carry on a fuss.
It's quite tranquil when it's just the two of us.
My sweet muse is not alive, nor is she dead.
She poses proudly as a mannequin head.