A blown glass flower, with a broken stem, cut the pair in two; the Mr & the Mrs, the Matron Matryoshka, sick with child who was never due.
A razor-thin edge laden with lies has swung and swept their stage; the curtains have drawn as they separate their sins from the forgotten page.
A twinkle in her eyes from a stranger whom she barely knew; the Mr of the Shadowlands promised those bows to break in half, splitting down, through and through.
Rock-a-Bye Baby, on the tree top, when the wind blows the cradle will rock; when the mice scamper through the cobwebs, up the second hand while the hour hand spins.
Time sped up from the belly of the whore, the Maiden Matryoshka and her little wonder lore:
The myth of the sea-barren brute named Neptune who sifted beyond the Sun; the center of four oceans, tumbling them into one.
The Mr & the Mrs, the Matron Matryoshka, sick with child who was never due; the bond that beared their name and loved them through and through.