United States

Dear: Mooneyes

I’m not head-over-heels

for you anymore

In fact, my sperrys have gotten

stuck in the mud

And the color, cerulean blue,

stopped looking so pretty to me

and now I’m sitting in my pew at church

thinking about how

your eyes can pierce into mine

And I keep thinking

that there must be something

more than this

This colossal train

is heading nowhere

Since I can’t find any electrolytes

I’ll just settle for this dress

ripping me apart

The correlation doesn’t make

flowers like you anymore


Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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