Rouge

The pictures of our wedding 
still in colour, fresh in my mind,
cheerful raised voices and smiles,
the flowers that adorned our bed
and the gentle and soulful way you loved me.

It was autumn when the wind changed direction.
Nights became a blur of waking and watching
the minutes and hours merge to form daylight.

Sometimes your side of the bed was unused,
and sometimes you would be on my side,
a tender deed
replaced by a casual need

The first slap stung bad.
Now,its a welcome journey
into the reasons why I hate you.

A new rouge for my new bruise.
A new dress for his new muse.

'Does the pillow go over or under his head?'

It is always the kids that hold you back,
show you the freedom you lack,
the trials you endure
through the years to ensure
future is a proverbial 'bright'
I must again surrender to the night.

'Does the pillow go over or under his head?'