Store teller’ with aqua green eyes’
You are a peacock whom royally, hides
Her royal plumage in disguise,
Your cinnamon skin
Holds a lotus flower, within,
Your peachy warm, smile
Captivates the serpents’ sin
While, the true agony of your; beauty,
Is uncannily short sold, behind;
A supermarket, lottery line;
Whence you’re till, has finally, rung!
Nought; but the winner of your heart
Shall ever be sung! Shall ever be sung!
Shall ever remember his long lost hunger
That subsistence, dark
Mesmerizingly up till then?
All but he will pass you by,