adulteryyour mistress wears foundationbloody-magpies
that crumbles into your mouth
when you kiss her cheek.
your mistress wears blood red lipstick
that stains not only your elongated neck,
but also my favorite mug.
your mistress wears those faux nails,
which are sharper than her intellect
and more colorful than her personality.
your mistress wears tight clothing,
marking every line and curve of her body,
especially that ass of her's.
your mistress wears my engagement ring
and I will hide my jealousy at a bar,
drinking my misery away, day by day.
yet, we still triedi watched you pack all of yourbloody-magpies
with all your clothing stashed
not freshly ironed or squared;
the wrinkles on your face
matched those on your shirts,
each crease represented
the times we tried
the times we tried and failed.
you accused me of being medusa,
turning each of our chances to
they guard the garden
that never blooms.
not another one..."