Love Sonnet

She is a masterpiece as excellent

As the cracks in the Mona Lisa.

A work of art as almost beautiful

As the mold on a squirmy armadillo.

Can I compare her to a jubilant hairy lobster?

Or is she equalled by the immaculate weeping watermelons?

She is more lovely than the shattered shards

Of exquisite Grecian pottery,

And more realistic than a crocodile

Who swims all day in tart and tasty lipstick.

The missing pieces

Of the mansion Parthenon,

The breathtaking breaks

In a Yellowstone precipice,

The brown part

Of a rotten bow tie.

She is more to me than all of these,

And now I have a kangaroo nose of my own.

I think that I must be in love,

But it could be indigestion—

Only Lee or a bad burrito

Could make me feel this way.

She smells much better than a bad burrito.

She doesn’t fit at all inside the rigid barbed wire,

But she is a misshaped gratuitous extraneous rupture

In a canvass that forever disrupts the regular flow of purple tea.

So what is the best type of story to tell a toddler with pointy teeth?

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