MY MISTRESS’ EYES ARE LIKE CINNABONS

SONNET 86

They’re crazy large, she is such a freak

And they are not just brown, but sugary

And did I tell you her breath doth reek

And I rue the very day she chose me

If hair were pasta, it grows from her head

Makes sense, because she cannot stop eating

At night she brings ancient pizza to bed

My stomach turns, it keeps on repeating

There are stale chips all over the blanket

There are old gummies under my pillow

Rotten apple juice, she never drank it

I could never sell this house on Zillow

But she stays up with me to watch Seinfeld

She throws up every time she sees Newman