Ode To My Uncle Bob's Mustache

Ode To My Uncle Bob's Mustache

My Uncle Bob has a mustache

that is

soft as a satin pillow.

When I see it twitching up and down

as he talks,

I smile.

It wiggles when he speaks,

like a worm 

stuck to his face,

moving its silken black head

in time to the words

coming from his mouth.

Thin or thick,

long or short,

it changes every time

I stop by to visit him.

He likes to try 

new styles.

Once he dyed it a bright red,

curled up in a twirl,

and currently,

it's so small

that his nose

hangs over it

like an umbrella

shielding it,

almost touching his lip.

But my favorite is

when it's black,

a natural black,

glinting in the light

as if it had eyes

reflecting the sun's

bright personality.

Author's Note

it's supposed to be not capitalized and no punctuation marks on some lines.