My wife and I are having a tiff.
Minds that used to be flexible,
now have gone stiff.
We spat over dishes
We spar over work
While she plays the bitch,
I play the jerk.
It didn't alway used to be so.
Where, oh where, did our quiet times go?
They're buried in piles of selfish and mean;
the air, like our minds,
could stand to be cleaned.
So take to the laundry of rest and regroup,
some magic of old I wish to recoup.
If quarters go in, will cleansing take place?
I hope so.
I love her.
I need to save face.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment