Baby I’m Amazed

From the backseat
she looks

with gorgeous eyes
which tell her age

against the passing
landscape.

Mountains behind
the Mona Lisa

be dashed,
exotic scenes

framing Dali’s Gala,
poor excuses

for the art
of beauty.

Stars blaze
from her innocent lips,

little wings
folded,

no miles
on them,

the wind
and sky waiting

the turn
she flaunts and denies.