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