The night before...

Emanuelle, called

her last known dog.

A small, franchise variety of shepherd dogs...

Her toes were frozen outside ill famed taverns,

where lurking memories of former gentlemen,

mingled with odd smells of quick fortunes, and lads, pinching unseen butts of unfinished, cheap cigarettes... "Who are you?"

And it sounded weird

from a dog she thought to know a bit better

than the surprise of hearing

yet another vain marriage proposal.

"Owls never bark, Serghei;

and knights arrive precisely

at the dawn of every fallen evening..."

The dog quietly

packed its feet behind the sofa,

and wept.

Alone,

like every other slab of marble...

Photo source: http://davemorgancs.blogspot.co.uk/2011/01/contextual-studies-61010_06.html