THE GLANCE

The heat of the coffee matched my rage

 Your tears are guilty Sweety.

 I have killed the flee of the cage. 

Now come to me and sign this treaty. 

The flee was entrapped in the lace of your gown.

 It was the subject for the glance of the town. 

There was a curfew in the restaurant. 

I have killed the flee and the town was silent. 

I am sure I was never so violent. 

There was a stain in your gown.

 It was again a subject for the glance of the town.