There will be no time to regret
Words so casually said
Dictating with a dittanous aroma
Somehow appropriately soured
The story was logically seen and told
Through your epicanthic fold
And the persevering perceivers
Could see you were of elapid genus
And your effeted life was worth little
Without want to preserve or cherish
Then the open road lead to the diverticulum
Do we fancy our kiss a mead or julep?
Are our words savory and spry to remember and repeat?
Must our blood become turpene and cleanse
Body and soul of your tempermental toxins
That were placed so precisely
And employed so decisively
In a fetid attempt of words
And save the shambles of our lives?