Unattainable

I don’t understand your face.
Its beauty is not in my eye,
and I am the beholder.

You are statuesque,
with a long and slender neck.
It permits a gracious tilt of the head
so your excellent nose is in the air,
and you can look down it.

I am sure you must have an uncommon sense of smell,
because your chiseled lips are pursed in distaste
most of the time.

I glance by chance
and you register recognition.
Liking the attention,
then deciding on disdain.

I feign nonchalance
and check the apples for bruises.

We are both liars.