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mustache

The Face I Know

Time has left its mark on his rosy cheeks.
Every follicle housed a wire like
hair, and the length of it laid curled on
the roundness of his face— marking the days
that have passed since the barber saw him last.
Not even a freckle can be seen, and
the whiteness reflects the years he has lived.
The fur-like thickness covers every part—
except his mouth where you can see his smile.
The moustache hangs like a caterpillar;
His jaw-line fades into his thick, tan neck.
His egg-shaped glasses shield his blue eyes
that express the happiness of seeing
his daughter walk through the house door safely.