And that's all he talked about. 
    All I talked about was poetry. 
 What a brilliant match this was! 
We have so much in common! 

(Like, we both have skin...) 

Then I noticed his hands 
as he nibbled demurely 
           on his egg roll. 

                They were tiny. 
        Minute, even. 
Barely able to find their way out of the sleeves of his navy blue blazer, 
they clutched at the morsel of food between them.

       And as I stared, his nails turned to claws, 


     and I lost sight of his opposable thumbs. 
 Fine blond fur coated his...paws. 
     The pungent smell of cedar chips quickly overpowered
 the aroma of my ginger chicken. 
                  I knew then (for sure) that I could have no 
future with this man.
 Even if we were able to overcome our differences, 
and start a family, I'd always be nervous 
that when my back was turned, he would devour our young.