Like two point blank shotgun blasts to the cranium,
each request left little to the imagination.
She had always been too quick, too brash
for him to keep up on any level she would allow;
and here it was,
drawn out for him on the mental equivalent of yellow snow,
the tumor-ridden husk of a once sanguine attraction
lying doubled over at the threshold of this tiny house.

She was free now
to chase the bigger and the better,
as her pleas had been fulfilled
by his total evacuation from
any shared plane of interaction.

He had forfeited the whole world to abscond,
even if it had been more her style
to participate in this mass delusion most call life.