A picture paints a race against rhyme
a thousand balls are now in your court
hell gets real blurry when love is a crime
a woman adorned reigns while my escort
scratches from starting all over again
reducing fears with whine and no dine
biting off way more than we can fain
running out of charm for the third time
in the moment of heat x-marks the g-spot
nailing the head with hits on the face
bedding on the right side of the money shot
between a hard rock and a lonely place.
dead beat poet 
