Her Pointy Elbows

My beautiful rose strikes a pose
before she throws elbows
to the bridge of my nose
the pointiest of points
makes a heaviest of blows.
How did she know
it would turn out as prose?

And all because I didn’t like her clothes.

Impossible to oppose.
the “Flower with the Power”
I accept defeat
falling to her feet.

A sock to the groin
a chop to the loin.
disabled by her brawn.

How did our creator
give these men-haters
this weapon of choice
instead of no voice?
God’s toys annoys boys with noise.

Although I’m constantly bruised
I’m quite used to being (and choose to be) abused
by the my muse with short fuse
who’s amused by the size of my lose.
I now stand bemused.
Sporting an elbow-shaped-tattoo of one hundred hues.

And all because I didn’t like her shoes.

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