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Poem

A dining room kiss with a long list in hand on a Saturday is a red flag
each episode feels like the visitation of a hundred partners by their slag.

On every disappointing bargain, her words terribly slaughter
constantly reshuffling the list, pounding less options with mortar.

Spanning several miles, not minding how far
from market to mall, complaints already springing out from the coal tar.

A planned hunting carried out by a patient moose
when forced as a non-partaking escort, no option is left to the goose.

Navigating the entire north-pole just to beat a troubling prize
indication for a continued journey when meeting a rise.

A taste so mountainous needing services from importation
numerous alerts from her bank account giving the testimony.

Walking in so much pride and confidence like a chief
I stay behind in submission, obeying like a caught thief.

Every selling point is an association where she’s more than a member
interacting with sales girls like drunkards in a bar.

She believes there is a lot of time since its mid June
still on the road since sun rise and about to meet the moon.

From one buy to another a new taste is always born
the last item is bought beginning the long awaited dawn.

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