Till Death Do Us Part

In a not-so-ideal wedding idyll, a homicidal, recent bride’ll get ideas, not be idle. When he shut-eyed, ill, then she sidled with a bridle, fastened idol, both hands tied, till in came tidal, claimed suicidal, got car title, left for Slidell.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2022

Poem

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Baker Avatar
March 26, 2022 at 2:07 PM
Monorhymes, you did it. Bill
Dietrich Avatar
March 25, 2022 at 1:18 PM
Haha. Love this one
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