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Your Ugly Face

When you frown, your face screws into a knot
not dissimilar to that of a clove hitch,
though to compare you to a knot as useful as this one
would be to labour it with a comparison
it doesn’t deserve. 
There is beauty in seeing a well-groomed, happy, obedient horse
tied neatly to a hitching post
outside of a saloon.
There is no beauty in your frown.
In fact, I do not know a horse, rope or post in history
that has been afflicted with the separate or collective ugliness 
of your scowl.
I am reasonably confident of this supposition and I will stand by it.
However, I must distance myself from objectifying matters,
because it is an overly simplistic device
used to derive an element of humour from a place where there absolutely is none.
And therein lies my problem.  Or rather, your problem.
So for fear of comparing you to something marginally favourable,
it is only fair that I compare you to yourself,
because the only thing that comes close
to the profound ugliness of your ugly, frowning face
is your ugly, unfrowning face.   

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