/For my love./

Just point the men-

and I'll fill the morgue-

For I hold a knife everyday-

when I cook for you.

Yet vengeance is a dish best served cold,

So you play online games that you can't pause-

instead of joining me-

for dinner.

I stare at the kitchen sink reflection and saw-

The domestic man you made of me.

In some degree,

you tamed him-

without knowing the strength of his arms,

for instead-

you saw the warmth

it could give at night.

So, you entered the food in a microwave-

After leaving the games you can't save.

And I was waiting in bed

planning to flood the shower floor,

where my mind would swim and be drained.

There I'll overthink,

for when you join me in bed later-

I'll have to act domestic.