I had a dream that I saw you in a hotel room with two other women. I was chasing them down the hallway with my 6 inch stilletos, a knife sharper than my mind, and a heart full of rage.  I welcomed them with a formal greeting before I took their heads, "hello, my name is Delilah. I'm here to **** you. I'm sorry if I'm  sweating profusely. Now, if you wouldn't mind getting on your tartly knees." I kept thinking to myself, as I slowly inserted my mind into theirs, 'I never knew I was capable of doing such things.' And it wasn't until they were finally dead that you were finally gone.

You were the milk to my white oleanders; ever so soft, innocent, and pure and I could easily absorb you through my stems and blossom until I was plucked  from the bouquet the very next day.  Now, instead of your milk, only your stench remains and I can't seem to wash it off no matter how hard I try.  There's no longer that sweet flora and fauna that I once remember. You are now but an awfully sweet memory that remains in my bell jar forever.