With lazy, glazed over eyes,

he stares at his succulent prize.

Pretty pink lips so wet.

Caramel limbs cloaked in sweat.

Butterscotch mounds and hips

buck and bounce, roll and dip.

Cries and moans harmonize into a passionate song.

He wonders if she ever loved him this hard and long.

Change positions; now she's on her back.

He's stabbing her like a Michael Myers attack.

Pulling her hair and making her his.

He's pissed cause her face is covered in bliss.

She arches her back; screams, "It's yours. It's yours."

What the fuck? He can't believe this whore!

Blam! He kicks open the door of the closet.

Spraying bullets like water from a faucet.

Steadily ignoring their pleas,

he exterminates the two lovers like fleas.

Then, he snatches the gold wedding band

from her bloody, lifeless, left hand.