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Written upon the occasion of  a gentleman completely misreading the nuanced words of a particular young lady.  Poor chap.  Sad tale, this one.

Oh this venom
upon his lips!
See how
coldly
down the back
of his throat
it slips.

Bled from the sun
a nectar he’s found
he swallows slowly
and suddenly
perplexed
he drops
dead on the ground.

Smoke and mirrors
Labyrinth for few
funfair funhouse
with equivocal words
lake waters illusory
cloak and dagger
through and through.

That faraway land
coy foreign way
words gamely penned
vaguely veiled ideas
a premise delusional
and so then
this swift decay!

His blood his tears
the snow they stain
his soul it dies
and will remain
ever and forever
dead with disdain.