It started with perfection.
Oh, how we loved to cuddle.
But once your ardor cooled, still
I was sweet, and you were subtle.

I took you to the woods at dusk,
where wolves were known to congregate.
You looked up and saw the moon.
To me, it was a dinner plate.

Afterwards, your remnants lay
sprinkled in a dark red puddle.
I’ll never forget the night when
you were sweet. I wasn’t subtle.

 

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Dinner Plate by Patricia La Barbera
originally published June 7, 2010