Apple of my eye,
Our whole relationship can be described as one big sigh.
Rotten to the core,
At times it felt like we were at war.
Henry Miller said the best way to get over a woman is to turn her into literature.
We were apples and oranges, but I tried to pear us.
Guess I’m one big romantic cliché, like the city Paris.
Screaming out Stella, while she’s on her terrace.
At first it was chocolate strawberries every day.
Then it was all downhill, like we were riding a sleigh.
And boy, did I feel it, like I mispronounced ‘fillet.’
I feel like a plum fool, who’s as bitter as a lime.
I was distracted by her melons—gets me every time.
Now she’s lost and gone forever, never more my darling Clementine.
She’s the apple of my eye, pineapple to be exact;
With a lemon filled inside, so glad we didn’t enter into a contract.
Got off pretty easy, no kids, and I did not contract.
I kept all my seeds, grateful (grapefruit) I didn’t eggplant.
Took me for pomegranate, she was fake like an implant.
She didn’t stand for anything, like the ‘S’ in Ulysses S. Grant.
Which means she’d fall for everything, bowling lane with a banana peel.
She was never current with her dates, so she went in circles like a Ferris wheel.
She was about as real, as any ordeal in a Looney tunes reel.
Our relationship was a juicy grape that was equal to none.
But after a short while, it dried up in the sun
In short, raisins are gross, our relationship is done;
And if it weren’t, I’d be forced to consult my friend, Tommy gun.
Apple Pie turned to Literature by http://no-ideas-original.blogspot.com/ is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
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