Schmentle

They Came, They Went.

Liz clutched and hammed and made Monroe, of pretty bits of blue and wind;
The first two chucked, she opted for the third of pictures took above that fan.
Mah platinum-beast she curled and growled, those bruises livid on her skin;
And told a story bout what made a beatin man.
Protest- I am-
but lost for kind, and waiting to hold up that what I preach.
I'd never bruise such lovely bloodFilled peach.
but Soft, what glove through yonder cheek I pierce.
It is the Would I were a hand upon that Sun;
I miss this one.