Poems about eyebrows

Eyebrows are love
Eyebrows are life
If your eyebrows are shite gtfo
Mine are on fleek all the time
And I can't think of another line

She has stars for eyebrows
Her phonetic smile says so much more
Tightly wrapped in the grey gaunt gauze of daylight
Eyes still closed
I wait arms breadth away for her...
To breath
To open
While mind touches upon her journey
While pieces parts of her epiphany are spoon fed
Like chocolate grace into my feasting and willing heart
I am the succulent afterword
To her speech now uttered in its completion
... with its grand street ballroom
Upon which we
All in our time of giddy laughter
Need to dance like royalty or fools
... with its back alley rainwater
That washes away all those terrible yesterdays
I am the sweat mongerer who waits
For her sleeping to be roused...
Transcendental she sleeps
With a soft drink
While i nourish
In the folds of her slumbering dreams

I really can't stand women who feel like
They have to bury themselves under
Six-feet of makeup and drawn on eyebrows.
To be honest, if I did prefer women to men,
I'd date a woman who didn't have a face
That reminded me of a painted mannequin.
I mean, the only thing I'd be able to think
When we're together is, “What the hell
Is actually waiting to come up from the
Depths of the long-lash lagoon or the foundation
Forest? ” because I'm pretty sure it's not
Some sort of welcoming party.
And what about the whole traveling to
The bathrooms in groups thing?
Sometimes I have to wonder if there's
Some sort of secret society of warrior
Women waiting to come charging out
Of the lavatory and straight at me just
Because I was born the wrong gender
In their eyes and that I have no idea
What they feel or who they are.
Women just terrify me at times.

But so askance the two eyes,
The brows so gliding into
A weaving of sorrow -
There she was, readily to be painted
For a caricature portrait at
The congregation of artists
At Trafalgar Sq. ,
For something being spotted
As over-blossomed,
But then the economics kicked
In, and the dream died,
Back to square one...
But that single instance of her
Worried brows and the mournful
Droop in her eyes
As if readied for the Monsoon...
But forgetting the inflammatory
Juicing of her genitalia...
What an oddity to see and thus
Describe the counteractive ingredients
Of what constitutes a human body
In egg-like-wholeness... chicken's
Nibble cluck and peckish pluck of the
Constant agreed nod for being a factory
Of eggs and a slaughter-meat.

Girl, did you cut your eyebrows?
Cause i'd be browsing your fine ass.

We have spoken of the things that we avoid
And argued about the void
Which we call heaven
All the things that we do not understand
So I stand naked before you
Guitar in hand playing to you
But woman one day
You will say
I don t love you anymore
And of that i am sure
For you can not be me
Nor i you
So into a void we will stand
My guitar in hand.

Wish upon a star
Wish upon a soul
Earth the same as gold
Salvation is the goal
Just between the eyebrows
Focus vision on the nose's tip
Still, controlling your mind is like
Controlling the wind
So with the arrow of time
You enter the cosmic womb
You ride upon the mystical machine
Until you enter the tomb
Coming forth into being
Going forth into absorption
Find the yoke of union
Connect, harness, and in your soul, report it

He spies her in the crowd,
The girl he had hoped to forget.
Her bones are still as delicate
And her breathing
Just as shallow
As when he saw her last.
At night
She is most beautiful,
For she always raises her eyebrows
A bit higher
Once the moon shows face.