The Torn Letter

The letter came between us
With its loosely gummed flap
That happened to fall open
As it dropped onto the mat,
And out peeked your notelet
Like a little pink tongue
And the scattered rose petals
It was nestled among.
I'm not saying it wasn't lovely
To get such a perfumed letter,
But a sheet of plain white paper
Might have been a little better.
I bent to quickly pick it up
But my hands were just too slow
As a high heel stamped on top of it
With your letter crushed below.
"I'll get that", she hissed at me
With a tone of molten metal,
As she lifted up her heel
revealing one poor skewered petal.
She opened up your missive,
Started reading it aloud,
"Who's 'Pinky-poo'?" She asked me
With the voice of a thunder cloud.
"Maybe it's for the neighbours?"
I stammered to my tie.
"Frank", she fairly poison-dripped,
"I do wish you wouldn't lie."
So I told her how I'd met you
On that holiday in Kent.
When I left early on 'business',
But that wasn't where I went.
And that next week I'd been planning
To book another trip
And that just that afternoon
I'd got the brochure for the ship.
She looked at me intently
As I told of our affair
And stood silent when I'd finished
While I cowered under her stare.
Finally she spoke and simply
Asked me "Is she better?"
And when I shook my head
She calmly tore apart your letter.
She strode out of the room
And that's the last I heard of it
So I gathered all the pieces
Every tiny little bit.
I've spent weeks out in the garden
Pretending to pot seeds
While instead I'm jigsaw-piecing
Every word that I can read.
I think that in my haste
There might be some bits that I missed
But I can read enough of it
To figure out the gist.
You said to meet in Dover
But I couldn't read the date
So I'll head down there tomorrow
And if you're not there I'll wait.
I hope it won't be too long
And I read your letter right,
As I've only brought enough food
To last me for one night.