Too full to eat even those three more,
Though too tempting they are to ever ignore,
In the prime of their beauty, full, ripe and red,
For hours on that beauty two lovers were fed.
Water drops resting on that passion fruit’s flesh,
Lying in bed where realities mesh,
Two that once before stood on opposite sides,
Of that chasm of happiness that true love decides.
What’s left in the glass, half empty, half full,
Matters not but for secrets and deception’s strong pull,
To eat, to drink, then to come when he calls,
Is it good or evil that breaks down her walls?
The want for a little becomes a want for much more,
And the loss of ones dignity is hard to ignore,
A sign of what’s coming, or of what’s gone before,
The balance is tipped when he closes the door.
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