Her hair flowed like a summer's breeze,
Her dress flowered about her legs,
And it made it seem as if,
She were standing in a small blue puddle.
Her body was a temple of perfect curves.
Her face was an assault on my heart,
Her nose, eyes and lips beat my love,
Like a back-alley mugger.
But a nice back-alley mugger.
And as the pie flew through the air,
And hit her squarely in the face,
And as the seltzer bottle,
Cleansed her violently,
And the chunks of pie on her face,
Gave way to gravity,
Like church-bells in June,
As everyone laughted at her painted face,
I knew
I was
In love.
With my slapstick woman.