A Quadrille poem
Her spoon fell with a clang
bowl rocked in position
chewing the cud
churning suspicion
was she a mad cow?
as he did persist
flaying his throat
wrenching her wrist
the frigid soup
a stone in her belly
the familiar taste
Cream of Machiavelli.
© Darius the Mate
Written for dVerse Poets Pub.
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nicecissist 
I love this, especially the ending!
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A very heavy soup. and way too common. I hope she uses her spoon to hit him on the head.
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Possibly the best ending I’ve ever encountered, Darius ❤
-David
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It sounds like a soup to be avoided at all costs!
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An impossibly dark situation. If she were in prison, she’d sharpen the handle of the spoon and wait for the right time.
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That could/should be the final stanza! I see, you would definitely be a survivor, Lisa. Thank you for your comment.
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You’re welcome, Darius. A younger me would just continue to put up with it and blame myself for whatever was happening.
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You really rocked this prompt. Such intense images.
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Thank you, Roth. Loved yours too.
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You are welcome… thanks!
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Nice! I love the rocking rhyme to this, which belies the darker-side story within.
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Thank you, Whimsy – for your kind comment, and hosting prowess.
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