My current girlfriend's great, too, but I still like this poem

On the Subject of Women

Maybe there’s something wrong with me
My tastes run counter to society’s
Its iconic dames I like fairly well
But I really go for girls that smell

You can trust a woman that hasn’t showered
Painted over, perfumed, and powdered;
No façade masking her exterior
Reflects her lack of artifice, interior

What care I for rose-water
Or alabaster skin?
What good are press-on nails?
None at all for workin’
A love that’s true
Ties up her hair and shares the work with you
And will kiss you full on the mouth
Though labor’s made your faces wet
And she smells as fresh as sunshine
Though she’s dripping sweat

I like the smell of sweat
And soap mixing in hair still wet
From a shower too quick to rinse away
Everything she did that day

I like faces just washed clean
Not pancaked ones with Revlon sheen
The smoothness of a shaven leg is nice
But no better than soft hair on hippie thighs

What say saline sacks of a woman’s character?
Can you believe words whispered by a collagen injector?
Does skin that’s tan
Reveal as much as a strong, rough hand?
Laughlines, wrinkles, crows’ feet
Are more comely to meet
Than the Stepford smoothness of Botox brows
A fleshy hip to grab much more sweet
Than the hard bones seen through designer gowns

Once a woman loved me
Who smelled of toil and coffee
She picked her nose and farted openly
Never shaved or trimmed that I could see
She never hid herself from me
And when she’d say “I love you,” she said it truly