Emanuelle, called
her last known dog.
A small, franchise variety of shepherd dogs...
Her toes were frozen outside ill famed taverns,
where lurking memories of former gentlemen,
mingled with odd smells of quick fortunes, and lads, pinching unseen butts of unfinished, cheap cigarettes... "Who are you?"
And it sounded weird
from a dog she thought to know a bit better
than the surprise of hearing
yet another vain marriage proposal.
"Owls never bark, Serghei;
and knights arrive precisely
at the dawn of every fallen evening..."
The dog quietly
packed its feet behind the sofa,
and wept.
Alone,
like every other slab of marble...


Photo source: http://davemorgancs.blogspot.co.uk/2011/01/contextual-studies-61010_06.html