Pickle
That tickled me
I could call you obtuse
Am I cheating my duty
To use your peerless beauty
In want of a muse.
Afflicted by vacancy
But that ain't no news
Love in its latency
Doth always amuse.
It's just that I'm inclined
To spend time finding
New ways of describing
Your grace in text.
The curve of your brow
The fall of your neck.
Making up more nice things to say
Really must be the best use of my day.
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