There's a poem in the poet

A supermodel star
And a champ who spars

Supermodel:

A Supermodel star

With flocks of locks that need finesse
with a little bit of make up
and dressed to impress

A dash of perfume, with a little eyeliner
Reflect in the mirror
Still could be finer

A dazzling dazzler
should then my poem be
slick stockings, high heels
Hair bouncing free

Consider those red luscious lips
Tender in the legs
And limber in the hips

Gaze at the Supermodel
What do you see?
There's a poem in the poet
and the poem is she


A Boxer that spars:


Quick jab to the ribs
Knuckle-sandwich to the jaw
Left hook, right hook
Face beneath his paw

Down for the count
on a count of three
sweat, tears, pride
are running free

Up on my feet
and tie up my shoes
Look me in the eye
and try to stop my muse

Ducking and sliding
While throwing a punch
His mouth popped open
Then out popped his lunch

Can you smell again?
The smell of victory?
There's a poem in the poet
And the poem is he