The day she found that the distance between
Her eyes, her ears, the upturn of her nose:
The color red of her lips, their soft sheen.
They pleased, they charmed, she had beauty men chose.
That adult day, she thought that she’d panned gold
She'd go and sell, she'd bait these hooks of blood
The hounds would thirst, her love bottled and sold
They'd beg for skin, devour it to cud
Miss Salesman sold to the thieves and smokers
She swung from door to door, scoring home runs
But men aren’t hounds; they're soldiers and brokers
They'll bargain for bodies, bearing big guns
Lace up your boots and fight this fight anew
You better use what your momma gave you
Prompt: "Try your hand at a sonnet – or at least something “sonnet-shaped.” Think about the concept of the sonnet as a song, and let the format of a song inform your attempt. Be as strict or not strict as you want."
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