We studied ‘Valentine' by the Poet Laureate last year, remember?
You half-heartedly liked it, but I wanted to dismember
The woman who smugly, pretentiously projected
Her ‘abstract creativity' onto love and dissected
It, like the onion she simpered over so dishonestly.
She didn't ‘carefully undress it', she tore its modesty
With sharpened claws, and diced its humble completeness
Down to rags. Love stood naked before her neatness;
Not in purity, but broken and ashamed.
She cast a wicked grin at tears; said the onion was to blame.

The End

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