Custard Crime Passionnel

I’m an ardent biscuit lover –
Perverse as it may seem,
I had a close relationship
With a humble custard cream.

I thought that we were soul mates
Or something of that ilk
And I’d never once been tempted by
A Nice or malted milk.

He said the love between us was
The best he’d ever felt
And when I licked his middle, that
It made his innards melt.

But lately he’d seemed distant –
I feared he might be restive
And he might have something going on
With a chocolate-topped digestive.

She was more a tart than biscuit,
As others, too, have noted:
She flashed her bottom shamelessly
As she swanned about half-coated.

I didn’t know what I should do
When this rocky patch befell us –
Should I take preemptive action
In a bid to make him jealous?

I thought of trying Ginger Nuts,
But I didn’t dare to risk it –
I’d feel so cheap if I had a fling
With another kind of biscuit.

But I feared a looming crisis –
I knew I couldn’t hack it
If he should throw me over and then
Move into her packet.

One night, he came home late and then,
To my eternal dolour,
I noticed telltale chocolate stains
Were smudged around his collar.

They’d clearly had an evening which
Was not platonic and which
Had ended with them fusing bits
To form a chocolate sandwich.

Then something snapped inside of me –
I simply wasn’t willing
To let him paw some other snack
And stuff her with his filling!

And that’s when I assaulted him –
I jabbed him with my thumbs.
I didn’t mean to injure him,
But there he lay – oh, crumbs!

His fragile body breaking up,
As to his death he tumbles
Still haunts me now, but – hey! –
That’s just the way the cookie crumbles.


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