I disregarded Eleanor,
She much regarded me,
Amidst the trope of our desire,
Discontinuity.
I dazzled her; she frazzled me,
We danced a rumba sheen.
But never found that comfort place
To right our wrongs between.
Too late, I flew a flag of truce,
Surrender in my eyes,
To find she’d fled our pied-à-terre
Defeated by our lies.
Image adapted courtesy Ailura, CC BY-SA 3.0 AT, CC BY-SA 3.0 AT https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/at/deed.en, via Wikimedia Commons
BALANCE THE TRIANGLE LABS 
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