We were dining on the rat trap, pulled back ready to snap.
A fresh cedar frame, the print was red (the outlines) and blue (the silouhette of a rat). Its imperfection was off centered, the copper painted iron spring held the candle with smooth hands. Our dinner flickered with the shadows.
Stuffed in a darker corner under a table which held the masters tools. I said hi to my friends who only scurried faster with the sounds of my throat. That night I forgot how to talk.
Peanut butter under a wedge of white cheese, a fly made his last moves on that goo like a butter knife poorly spreading butter, we were eating fine this evening.
I was busy avoiding your gaze which haunted me the first day you wouldnt look at me.
Now it was all I could see, at least imagine.
I took a small chunck with a small dip and a small leg. They say hungers the best seasoning, I wasnt very hungry.
You got tired of my abscence, as you stood I finally wasnt busy anymore.
I told you not to move. I forgot I forgot I couldnt talk.
You took one step.
The master wont be cleaning up rats tonight.