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M and M

A soliloquy by someone prone to Malapropisms or Misquotations


To urn her tinder love so sweat

My balaclava I shall play

And to my liver, Juliet,

I’ll sing a moving malady.

For she is to my licking dear

Appalling – and by beauty blest,

And with her, snog beside me here,

I’ll rest my head upon her beast.

Each night with batted breath I wait

To catch, perchance, one fleeing view,

I witch her window, long and late,

To see her wince again anew.

Though apposition to our joy

Bars wedded-onion hopes for now,

Bereave me! I’m her wander-boy

And someday we’ll be hatched, I know.

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