Pukka Girl

She is a pukka girl.

Her dance a swirl,
spinning us all while
inside she'd pule.

What is this ancient pull
drawing him ever nearer?

Pullulate with all of it
for she to him grows dearer.

Ah, but what pulp he
pronounces on the pulsating
page, each word pulverizing
the pumpkin pie of her.

Alas, he puns, punch-drunk
in his paper punching bag.

What promised goes unpunctured?