Wonder what would’ve been the fate, if you’re a pizza boy with those Spanish eyes. Five-foot ten with black stringy hair and liquid eyes that turn Medusa to stone. O! The perfect dud—a big time one. My insides melt like the million pieces of heartbreaks. I can see the squid beneath the sexy eyes, the gorgeous cheekbones, and your eyebrows; they arc gently as opposed to jutting inward, and, well, frankly, you blush in the most adorable way.
You remember Mona Lisa. The woman with no eyebrows smiling at million appreciators I’d buy her a veil for she looks like a ‘drag’ to me. I can’t see (it) in her eyes. [One thing you should know, though, when you go to such lengths to make a statement is never contradict that statement before you've made it.] Huh? Ah... Did I exaggerate now? Neva mind, beauty needs an exaggeration and here I stick it.
Cheerful eyes sits on window frame and speak nothin’ (but) a pair of devil’s dogs. One day, I'm gonna make you cry and dip my cookie in your tears. No, uh, are the lenses for sale? Could you rent them a night for I like to cast a spell on you?
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