I said she was going to flip
And here we are, events afar from my love-sparring lips
Well-placed behind the kitchen island’s bar
Dodging well-aimed face-effacing plates during a large conniption
I used to kiss her in this kitchen
Her exclusive lip a witch’s remit
Her noisome poison imbiber poised for embrace
Her eerie straight teeth like a Viking stone pile to say
These yielding acres belong to Hrothar and Hegir respectively
Her clipped effusion, her eclipsing stance, her occluding glance
The dance of light in her colluding hyena eyes
Unsettled by her foot’s guild-taught lightness.
Alchemisland 
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