Merciel

The smell of her skin exposed beneath layers
of vanilla-sprinkled floral fragrances was nature:
the smell of sapling trees after a humble shower,
grass freshly-snipped, still surrounded by the trimmings.
Nature’s nubile nymph given flesh, scent, stench
obscene to a nose groomed by doves and Ireland,
Klein and Armani, chocolate scents from artificial ingredients.
The fig leaves fell from the truth that stole her beauty-
her mouth, her breasts, her candy-coated scent-
and cursed her forever a primate, a beast, an ape beneath.
In a world uncorrupted by a new brand of Eve named Britney,
she might be named Beauty rather than just another monkey.