My first love was fresh
as newly purchased milk.
But it expired a month before
you said you no longer loved me.
I could not see its transformation
to stinky, rubbery cheese.
Friends begged me to throw you out.
I couldn’t bear knowing you were waste.
In your soured state, you tried tainting
the food in my fridge, so I could not eat
more than I was allowed.
But there are cookies in the pantry
you could not ruin for me.