The Beau On the Cutie Pie
Soothing, lissome; render the facsimile of its
Heart; Such a spright with adore imbued.
‘Er pelt’s so sleek; as petite fry’s
In its nurse’s, gentle and suckling:
The only Cutie-pie on my heart.
Realism in its mettle glints joie de vivre,
As doeth molten chaste gold in the forge; a
Knoll of whose acme other inamoratas feign. Such
An Alkebulan nymph of finest of lustre imagined:
The one and only on the heart.
Nymph of great splendor so priced,
Guarantees anew that adoring even more I stay;
Or peril I at rivals shameful losses, awaiting
My heart’s intensely pricked – broken:
As if it weren’t the only Cutie-pie on my heart.
Beauty as embossed on it and in
Every milieu envisioned, of itself no ill utters;
Making it the solo etch on this conquered heart,
And of those who in split or full, fray pro-reign
Over the one and only on the heart.
Hells all abhorrence merited, it deters!
Anti-doting each time desolation's endured,
Thus, it insures my glee agst perils viable;
Agst rivals in places – a reassuring haven:
The only Cutie-pie on my heart.
In its blissful eye’s such an unfaked
Love that soothes like no cool draft does;
Optically reassuring in such ways it’s my
Venus, the finest of icons in the realms of adore:
The one and only on the heart.
Every songbird that hums its tune,
Yens for the arpeggio worthy the hymn for
One sylph in a million – for its admirers reverie;
‘Until fatality do us part’, in their self-deceited yen
For the only Cutie-pie on my heart.
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