a study toward sonnet #1,299 by FisherKingKQJ
2.10.07 (xxii)
I swear that you're boxed in a routine stint,
You rap, tap node tiles near Remuera Road,
Broadway, as morning sun leads you to squint,
As on your eyelids' skin foresight's bestowed.
You don't aggrandize her drilled gaze of flint,
She's babydoll dress, black tights a la mode,
She brushes you off, and yet leaves you lint,
Her gun steel blues shoo out men, elsewhere goad.
Teed Street yields oestrogen to second sight,
Twin dummies nod that you're a handsome dude,
A long hair on your lapel, far too bright
For your own good, on fine pinstripes sits skewed.
Tartan you, burberry she, both flannel,
You rub shoulders past the billboard panel.
(Chorus)
o $10,000,000 flannel
o $10,000,000 nap
o $10,000,000 suede
[Autocube3 - for 3d interactive movies.]
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