A letter of false confession

My heart feels like moldy brisket
broken up like a biscuit.
I would take care and fix it
but the pieces flushed away.

I can’t believe a crumpet
would dare call me a strumpet.
Your condescension like a trumpet.
That withers my wick away.

No more to tinkle merry
Over cheeks that burn like cherry
Your echo is so very
You have forgotten how to love me.