The Gloves Are Off…for the poetic joust

Flowers grace her ever so near Shades of violet and vermilion What price would I pay to have her Well I guess at least a million Odes sung with honeydew swollen From the breasts of my beloved And I would never kill her no Not least my hands weren’t gloved Could be she’s infinity’s song And we’re minutes that die by her hand And seconds are what her mother makes If we want our chicken tasting bland Sadly I had to remove my glove And slap the cheek of another Who I thought would try to win her But twas only her eldest brother Her chassis’s of a 69 ‘stang Her motor’s of a GTO She listens to CCR with me ELO, and BTO I do say “She’s real fine my 409” ‘Though just 1 thing of 2% Windex Is 3 times more effective then be 4 She has all 52 cards found in decks Ode to a commode that she has scrubbed Ode to the bubblyness of her demeanor "Dow bathroom cleaner has scrubbing bubbles" I caress it when long since I’ve seen her Beauty is in the eye of the beholder When lust fills your eye, gouge it out So you can be the holder of your eyes In which her beauty there is no doubt One day crestfallen I read the note Scratching the tattoo on my behind It said dear sir that tattoo should read You are crazy and out of your mind Crazy, but that is what it says And no she’s not seen my bottom All the memories of my Guinevere Out of my mind, but I still got ‘em Written February 7th, 2002 © on Feb 06 2002 03:09 PM PST   0 • 10