He eats the deep dark sweets of the chocolate lover.
He drinks the Swiss Miss drink of a cocoa man.
She leaves the open box and the crackling papers
And shuts the icebox door with a bitter hand.
She gave up such delights when the full moon called her;
Her sharper nose cries out for more...
She walks the grocery aisles like a starving creature.
She wants, but what he buys would kill.
She scents his bars, and Dutch is a deep dark rapture
But she walks past with an iron will.
Buys carob and red meat, which ought to calm her.
She feeds but still her tastebuds aren’t appeased...
She's home from work again, and the job is wearing.
Her lover waits for her upstairs.
Soon she will run the night, but for now she's swearing
In mumbled words that make her howls sound fair.
But she forgot the date it'll be next morning.
The gift she got for Valentine's is... brown.
So, what do you think? Mail me at mobrien@dnaco.net
This page comes from Maureen O'Brien.
You are permitted to quote this on the Internet & the Web, for non-commercial use only.
If you do, mail me. If you want to publish it or record it, mail me and we'll deal --
but you'll have to deal with Vic Tyler, too.