Beautiful

You're beautiful, they say.
And tell me every night.
My soul is beautiful too,
you can't see it in this sort of light.
Dim and dark with a lustful smoke smog lingering.
And the girl of your dreams, sitting close enough for fingering.
I'll go home and shower off the night.
Wiping away sun-kissed fantasies and glitter.
Lie awake in bed waiting for the sun to take me replaying the sounds of longing.
I pretend they were seeing me and finding beauty there, rather than the vesicle.