THE BEAU ON THE CUTIE-PIE

Love poem

Soothing, lissome; render the facsimile of its

Heart. Such a spright with adore imbued.

‘Ets pelt’s so sleek, as petite fry’s

In its nurse’s; gentle and suckling:

The only Cutie-pie on my heart.

Realism in its mettle glints joie de vivre,

As doeth molten chaste gold in the forge; a

Knoll whose acme other inamoratas feign. Such

An Alkebulan nymph of finest of lustre imagined:

The one and only on the heart.

Nymph of greatest splendor so priced;

Guarantees anew that adoring even more I stay,

Or peril I at rivals shameful losses, awaiting

My heart’s intensely pricked, broken:

As if it weren’t the only Cutie-pie on my heart.

Beauty as embossed on it and in

Every milieu envisioned, of it no ill utters;

Making it the solo etch on this conquered heart,

And on of those who in split or full, fray pro-reign

Over the one and only on the heart.

Hells all abhorrence merited, it deters!

Anti-doting each time desolation's endured,

Thus, it insures my glee agst perils viable;

Agst rivals in places; a reassuring haven:

The only Cutie-pie on my heart.

In its blissful eye’s such an unfaked

Love that soothes like no cool draft does;

Optically reassuring in such ways it’s my

Venus, the finest of icons in the realms of adore:

The one and only on the heart.

Every songbird that hums its tune,

Yearns for the arpeggio worthy the hymn for

One sylph in a million; for its admirers reverie;

‘Until fatality do us part’, in their self-deceited yearn

For the only Cutie-pie on my heart.