the problem was therefore the husband.
The band of love clutched
the untouched woman and caused gangrene
so clearly seen leading to the heart.
The blood stopped pumping.
She became old, dry, cold and wry.
Shrivelled and grey with nostrils pinched
by a man who perspires
a stench of desire to those wenches
of tight and little attire.
The blood rushed to one place.
He would boil, burn, twist and turn.
Sleeping next to a woman
who hated to be touched.
She felt his weight on the bed,
and waited for the time
to set upon her perfect crime.
The solution was poured
into a modern cauldron
then placed on the hob to boil.
This snaked was coiled
in a pan and planning its attack.
The witching hour had past,
and the malt whiskey he savoured
would be his last.
Who said they didn't have chemistry any more?
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