This is our apartment;
Finally, a space all our own.
We moved in on a Tuesday
Just to the outskirts of town.
This is our table
Where so many stories will be shared,
And to go along with it
We'll exchange the futon for a few chairs.
This is our couch
Where we will read our favorite books,
Nothing to interrupt us
But the exchange of seductive looks.
This is our kitchen
Where I'll make him the finest fare.
Every evening on the table by six
Before we eat, we'll say our prayer.
This is our bed
Where our fiery passions ignite.
We fall asleep in each others arms
Beneath scattered rays of moonlight.
This is our apartment
We've been here five months and all is fine.
My parents visit on Wednesdays
He's drinking his third glass of wine.
This is our table
We eat here every day.
Perhaps in a few years
This is where our children will play.
This is our couch
My reading has become unbothered.
I mention my hopes for the future
He assures me he'll never be a father.
This is our kitchen
Dinner is quite the affair.
I set down the final plate
For me, he pulls out my chair.
This is our bed
A bit cooler than before.
Our ******* has become scheduled
And, frankly, something of a bore.
This is our apartment
We've lived here for a year.
He says he must stay late at the office
When he's home he stinks of beer.
This is our table
The stories are getting fewer.
I ask him if it's something I did
He walks away to the shower.
This is our couch
Where I am the only one who sits;
Occasionally my safe haven
To avoid his resentful fits.
This is our kitchen
Where he drinks most of his meals.
After all those long table talks
I no longer know how he feels.
This is our bed
Even colder than it was last year.
He rolls over and touches my arm
I don't dare move from fear.
This is his apartment
I've packed my final suitcase.
One last walk through memory lane
And I'm finally leaving this place.
This is his table
Where dinner parties were held.
Where countless stories were told
And countless more withheld.
This is his couch
Where my hopes and dreams were shattered.
This is his Merlot I'm spilling on it
To remind him none of this matters.
This is his kitchen
Where I threw the bowl of sauce
The night he came home at 3AM
Following a meeting with his boss.
This is his bed
Once dirtied with frenzied devotion.
Now so neat, tidy and ironed
Lacking any and all emotion.
This is the clock
We didn't notice time passing by.
Before we had noticed ten years had passed
And I'm in love with a different guy.