So the topic dooms this poem a little, but I'm going to edit because of the comments. Oh the fugue, it is too much to take.
The holiday has long since passed away,
and now they sell defamed remains of Kitsch.
The scalloped icon hearts are in a blob
of reddish pink inside the fading order,
and Pepe’ le pew's engraved visage on a card
is crying never never mi l’amour.
His rapine gait is none of our concern,
but the famished arrow strikes us all as beasts
when the cherubic cupids hang above.
As we suckle proverbs or an acronym
on a chalky semblance of our organs,
the clothing models coyly beckon us
Come hither now, assimilate...
The holiday has long since passed away,
and now they sell defamed remains of Kitsch.
The scalloped icon hearts are in a blob
of reddish pink inside the fading order,
and Pepe’ le pew's engraved visage on a card
is crying never never mi l’amour.
His rapine gait is none of our concern,
but the famished arrow strikes us all as beasts
when the cherubic cupids hang above.
As we suckle proverbs or an acronym
on a chalky semblance of our organs,
the clothing models coyly beckon us
Come hither now, assimilate...