Only a slow sinking
As he rationalised
His infidelity
Blamed it on drinking
Blamed drinking on her
So it was her fault
In the end after all
How did that work?
Had she asked too much
In wanting to be loved?
That there be trust
Commitment of a sort?
His mind was a mystery
As was his history
She had found this
Attractive at first
A blank screen onto
Which she could project
The when, the why and how
But no consolation now
She would have to relearn
What it meant to be alone
His touch a memory
Like the fingers of
Winter in the desert
Cup of water for
A drowning woman
© shaun patrick green 2013
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