The Blackeye of Beauty
_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
Someone socked the sweet lane to your iris,
Big-time Morning Doll.
Something scabbed over the whirlwind towards the window to your sole reveal, the soft entry into your truth.
Lady Liberty done had her comeuppance.
We dawdle in others' blood but rush through idiot exercises of commerce.
Romance leaves us for dead and in tedium we linger.
Have you tried a cold stake on that? The
camera
adds
ten
rounds
but eye went down in the eighth.
