He:
Gainst Time’s obscenities
you will be wrinkled, wrung, wracked
my tight-lipped lovely
so why hold out so highly
gainst minor mine?
She:
My mealy-mouthed
word-mongering fossil
stuff your antique threats
in a book and with winsome wit
bemoan your unlucky plumber
He:
In such a book
your clap-trap undulations
will upstart cocky scholars
draw oil from well-primed rocks
when you unrot are dust hapless
She:
Ah, my punsome corpse pimp
why wrap obscurities in rhyme ribbon?
Forgo these sonnet coffins
and tame that obstreperous plumber
to the tune of unlyric labials mine!
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