The buttery lies, 

The fluttery beats,

Of the stony hearts, with their muttery hints,

Of the impending dying and the jittery corpse,

With a ring falling off the littery digit.

Some embroidered lies,

Like a scrumptious starter-menu,

Some diplomatic hiding, some overdone seeking,

Like a pre-meal skit & a digestive stew,

The starved, unkempt love; overlooked.

Some balmy apologies, some dining-table-sex,

Keep guests waiting at the doorstep,

Some concealer smudges, some scripted gestures,

To make up, make them smile ear-to-ear.

The sounds of love, fighting for breath,

Masked by the feast’s festivity,

Under the table, it is choked to death,

By a boot’s & a heel’s unity.