This is a one-line poem, and it works like a small joke that turns into a confession. The speaker starts casually: the songs on the radio are "ok," nothing special. Then comes the twist. Their real taste in music is "your face." A face isn't a sound at all, so the line plays with the idea that the person they love gives them what music usually gives: pleasure, comfort, a mood they want to stay in.
The speaker feels deeply fond of this person, maybe a little smitten, but they say it lightly. The flat "ok" about the radio makes the compliment land harder, because everything else seems dull next to this face. The mood is playful, shy and sweet, like someone saying something sincere while pretending to be offhand. The short length helps, too. It feels like a thought that slipped out, which makes it seem honest.