Those elephant feet
Disgrace your mold.
Honey, try toting through some
Sevens, or sixes, and never your eights.
Your calves elucidate
Hercules thighs. I
Suggest you sweat out
Waterfalls, to sausage-like them.
Feminize your quaking laughter,
When eligible men hound the room,
Clone a Mona Lisa countenance, and
Tame the glitz of your bleached teeth.
Darling, we have the same
Chest: flats on flat.
Here’s the number of a
Doctor who mound on flats.
Mother kisses my cheeks with freezing
Disgust, and directs shamed
Colored eyes at my hair.
Would you please do something about that?