June 12, 2000

Into the cloth I wept.
It was his heart that I should have kept.
Not his eyes, in a glass jar
Filled with liquid, on the mantle.
All in order
I moved him to the boudoir
Where the poison helped the murder
So his body, I could cantle.
I held onto his eyes and his tooth,
Thinking no one could find them, not even a great sleuth
His bodily remains would not be for people to see.
What will people say about me?
The rush of the murder is running right up-a-me,
Body parts don't remind me of you.