Gabriel Miranda
Oh, plastic potted caricature,
how admirable your grandeur
in sub-level light;
I lust and bask
in your arduous perennial
as my stoic artifice.
I sell my soul for your love!
For your immaculate image!
For your life!
In contrast,
to this imperfect organic
(wrinkled, discolored, decayed),
you breathe the beauty of the world
the way it was meant to be breathed.