Sweater full of moistened canvas
Stuccoed despite apparent light bulb’s shine
Glowing still from embers hauled
Despite the light of Cupid’s torch, elated mirth soon doth falls
In glass, trat she fears
Glossy straits comp laced with tears
As clocks conceal adjunct routes
To resurrection cove, she dreams about
Lounged back, cleft to tears
Rejuvenated ampersands still in dread
O’er withered debate she so oft fed
While extensions shudder in their wait
Bleeding time, rending haste
For tides to turn the badgers heel
Into slippers forged in nostalgic reel
Strictly speaking to the lace concocts,
Sextants distance shall grow lost
In games, even purloiners grow weary from
Where once recipes fresh and sweet
A maiden grows old and bleak
Without suitors to call or prey
She’s left faceless and afraid
As memories choose to fade
