Cupid's Misfire

Though often called by lovers for my wicked deadly aim when I sight with an arrow and I chant the whispered name. Sometimes, the shot gets tangled. I don’t like to ricochet off candidates unlikely of responsiveness in play. I’m sorry though... for Mary. Me feeling hung-over dues... ‘twas cause of the misfire flight, mispronouncing in the muse. I targeted her chosen, and fired a moment too late... Poor Mary heard the grunting and a pig stared through the gate. Next, we hear the crashing sound, running feet as pig appears and looking up at Mary piggish grin with garbage smears. Now, Mary’s not called stupid nor in love with new pig friend. She bargained up the bacon, smoked the hams and brought the end. Valentine’s day is coming, my fear mounts of face to face... ‘cause Mary not forgetting, last year was the piggy chase. Cupid