They picked apples from a tree
and sank their teeth into their flesh,
erstwhile reciting Shakespeare in Love.
They wonder about the third e and where it came from,
whether it was a typo on the part of his parents
or if that’s just the way it goes.

Daphne loved Solomon; he was her soul mate,
she was his. They liked the same music,
their taste in food was identical,
they even had the same social group.
Some would say they were destined to be together,
the perfect couple, a microcosmic relationship.

Then, on the day the rains came,
something profoundly insignificant occurred.
Solomon, in a daze of alcohol,
talked to another woman at the bar.
She lived beneath streetlights and exchanged herself for money.
They parted company a minute later,
minor acquaintances in the bar world.

Daphne heard about this from a friend,
but of course the friend loved to exaggerate.
Kisses and fumbles and back alley lovemaking
forced Daphne to confront her Solomon.
He denied it; she had a witness;
he told her the witness was unreliable.
So the spiral of events began.

They wouldn’t speak and Daphne moved out.
Solomon resorted to the bottle
and drank as much of his anger away,
which only made it worse, of course.
He was losing it; he could feel it,
a tight knot in my stomach wrenching at him.
Something had to be done.

Her phone rang. Solomon wanted to talk to her
but only in his flat. At eight-thirty Sunday evening,
she arrived and he let her in.
Offering Daphne a seat on the sofa,
he slipped into the kitchen on the premise
of a couple of glasses of rosé wine, her favourite.

He came back through with a rag soaked in chloroform
and a knife, shimmering in the pale light.
Creeping up behind her unnoticed,
he pressed the rag against her mouth and nose
while slipping the knife beneath her delicate chin.
One swift motion and she fell limp.

Her head is in the fridge, an arm, a leg,
her torso and a foot in the freezer.
The rest of her is long gone,
many banquets with dear, dear friends,
with many a glass of champagne consumed.
There are many meals left to be had,
thanks to his soul mate and the powers that be.
Ok, I really didn't see that end coming at all. Even knowing your writings. However, it was strangely believable. This is one of the few pieces you've written that I've actually not been bothered by the line breaks. Anyway, to stop blathering, I enjoyed this a lot.
This was a good read.

"a tight knot in my stomach wrenching at him."

- a turning point for me, and for others, I assume, as well. It then continued to entertain and sadden me. It's great to read poetry that has a very firm, determinable point; one that is poignant to all, not just one.
This piece is tremendous, and I honestly didn't see the end coming at all. You did a great job of disguising it and making it seem so honest...and show that "true" love is just a bad move away from Sweeney Todd.

I want to nitpick, but I really can't. I looked through and couldn't find any real errors. Your dark writing style is one of my favorites on S&L.

C4C on Moose(s) if you'd like a laugh.
This was a great read. For one thing I'm a big fan of {fictional} cannibalism. And another, I love twists in writing. This had both.

I think my brain had a orgasm.

lmao XD