Soft Skin and Perfume

You’re nothing but a weak man, weak and beaten,
Brought to your knees by soft skin and perfume.
Your brain is in your pants. Will we exhume
Your lost, lapsed will, or has the thing been eaten?
What happened to your face there, Buster Keaton?
It’s gone all stony, like an old legume,
A concrete bunker. All I can assume
Is that you hoped her heart might grow, and sweeten.

You’re going crazy. Once you were so proper,
But now you’ve been cooked, and your soul will melt.
She’s lovely: curvy, beautiful, and svelte,
Eyes like bright sapphires, hair like burnished copper.
I warned you, chump: here comes the heartstopper,
Here comes the one who hits below the belt.