Liprings

I don't like liprings.

I've been dazzled by the expert way
that eyebrowrings glare off shining faces
and bounce down to the eyes to substantiate
in even the longest of stares and blankest
self aware beauty into a warm capture-look.

But I don't like liprings.

I've been turned-on by the way
belly-bottonrings dangle or shine
their majesty unto torsos, highlighting
the pure sex in the center of gravity,
damning my attention to lusty intention.

But I don't like liprings

I've seen the husk of protesters
turned glamours artist by a nosering,
adding senseless class and old nobility,
Weighting a face-line posture with sparkle
and shamelessly becoming a fetish.

But I don't like liprings.
There's something unbecoming
about kissing a piece of tackle.