31 August 2012
Columbine, dear Columbine Your lips are like a red, red wine: Vinegary, make me gag... They give me morning headaches, hag!
Columbine, my own sweet love Your face is like the moon above: Vacant, round and pocked with grit And often there's a man in it.
Columbine, my darling girl Your buttocks leave me in a whirl; Two sweaty heifers in a sack, Straining, ready to attack.
Columbine, my heart's own prize, Formidable, your thunder thighs Heavyweights fear them, tights like wire, They rub together you'll start a fire.
Columbine, this Final verse Is quite ironic because.. I'm worse! Your love's unconditional like no other - I look like Quasimodo's uglier brother!
Columbine: An Unconventional Love Poem • Opuss № I