Her face was darker today reflecting the squall inside.
Pushed to her boundaries. 
Enough was enough.
Standing in the kitchen, 
Apron worn and stained, 
A sloppy metaphor for her soul.
She fantasized he was dinner
With every slash of the blade.
She had read a mystery like this once; 
Woman serves murder weapon to guests...
A leg of lamb, she recalled. 
Sometimes reality isn't as tidy as fiction. 
At least this wouldn't be. 
A smile slid across her face as she headed for the door. 

Ice blue eyes

And lips of perfection

She was a thing of beauty.

When Billy walked in

He sang like a jukebox and she was his muse

Until came - the Goddess of Destruction

With her swing of flowers,

Father behind glass,

Reflections or a red hue.

The truth came in whispers...

How true love always evaded her

And the Phantom Lady was forever lost.