What is wrong with me, why does
Everyone love tripe and onions?
Films are played, books written
Conversations at length
Served with silver cutlery
Flowers, good wine, fine linen
I can tolerate it served with love
But in a loveless marriage
Eaten as a takeaway
In the detritus of lovelessness
A quick fumble in the dark
A nasty messy horrible plate
Of cold congealed passion
Tripe and onions stink.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment