Honest Sonnet No. 2

Oh my darling, whose dog has legs of four
And whose spider's eyes number fully eight
I'll build a statue of enormous height
Where we can spend each and every hour

I can taste them now — the fish we'll fry
And smell the mighty seas from whence they'll come
Go on, Emily, make your way on home
Show your slender neck — I'll leave the belfry

I'm the maggots of your rotten meat
I'm the pawnbroker to your pocket watch
You're the world championship boxing match
I am the one who wipes away the sweat

I leave you now with treasure to bury
I've been condemned by the god damn jury