3 Dimensional Interactive Movies

sonnet #1,635

She was vain, that is, you'd just think my type,
A narcissist for loving bonds as pellmell
As anyone in any mane or stripe
Where society's rank mutual fictions swell.
She'd nod my worries merely trifling tripe,
The while part yawn, on her own worries dwell-
Who could accuse her, spit her guttersnipe?
This was perspective plumped, not kiss and tell.
Perspective wasn't her strong suit, spelt rude,
And read post mortem - she removed grey hair,
Waxed her whiskers, at surgery would sneer,
Was hung up on bra sizes flexed by food.
I'm looking out for girls who yearning yawn
Their lives in vain on vain men, beg off brawn.

(Chorus)

o yawn
o dilate
o gape