She succumbed to perfected charm
from a honey coated tongue,
each lie to her a beautiful truth
by the louche, pitch perfect sung.
He knew another notch was carved,
the fourth glass of wine his knife,
a small room booked in a small hotel
where she'd dream of being his wife.
She gave the thing she most held dear
early mornings light brought shame,
her virginity lost to a would be Prince
him now a frog without a name.
Her shattered dreams and fairy tales
on the sheets in blood loud said,
" the frog he bought your innocence
with cheap words and cheaper red "