Says The Pretty

Make a poem for Terence, says P. krameri.

Okay, says Mouldy. I never made one before. How do you start off?

Depends, says P. krameri. Do you want it funny or sad? Do you want to pay him back for the knees thing?

Yes, says Mouldy. All of that.

I'm waiting, says Terence.

Mouldy thinks quickly.

Funny, sad and the knees thing.

Can't get started? asks P. krameri. Just be natural.

Another thing! Be natural.

He is always natural. But wait! Not at the moment he isn't.

Inspiration strikes him.

He speaks, through the red beak of false nails.

Let me kiss you, says the Mouldy
No, says the Pretty
Why not? asks the Mouldy
I fear getting pincered, says the Pretty
And you haven't brushed your teeth.

The Mouldy is dejected
Terence comes by.
Perhaps I'll kiss him, says the Pretty.
She tries.
Terence goes weak at the knees.

I WOULDN'T! says Terence.

Payback, says Mouldy. How did you like it otherwise?

I like the Pretty, says P. krameri.

Me too, says Terence. I'd let her kiss me.

She's my Pretty, says Mouldy. If I say so, she will never.

What does she look like? asks Terence.

Like.... Lavender, says Mouldy.

Huh, says Terence.

But with a body, and lips, adds Mouldy.

Even that's not much to go on.