You tasted marzipan on her lips
but you wanted the steadfast of  Marchepan,
a fuller denser taste
already the deceit ran through your veins.
The Night keepers have  moments
with their concubines,
and there lay the rub.
Your betrothed only smiled
in half uncertainty.

The Grapes you feasted on
swelled your eyes,
receding hopes
chasten powers,
having played with grief
to shore some unrequited resentment
you withdrew.
The beast of envy has scorned sanity
to  improve his venture.