sonnet Shes not a classy

Shes not a classy act shes a cut rate slag
A beautiful and nervous niggling nag
Shell sledge the sombre news yet wring the worst
Ive weathered huge round vowels their bagging burst
Amongst her pals she postures puss at ease
Yet each one is known to nurse to please
If good if bad she keeps her cards clenched close
Alls brilliant bar a sudden overdose
She asks my mental state and moods I feel
I pitch the stars on cloudless nights appeal
Her mouth mints mist as winter solstice socks
Her red ears glow as if each got a box
She hugs me hugely down the frost lined lanes
My gallant coat is opened under cranes
Chorus lanes paths tracks