Fro-mance

Red-painted nails and frosted hair hide
frowsty decay and slow panic.

She'd been a girl in ribboned frocks,
his lubricious patter made her froward.

Now he frowns and mutters. She walks on
eggshells, smiling frozen fictions.

He pulls a hacksaw from the footlocker
and waits for her in front of the house

but she has kissed a crowned frog
and frolics joyfully in the swamp.

words courtesy of Read Write Poem

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