The purple lights up the dinner table,
Mocking me a little for the mess I made,
Ah, the conjugal suicide of forgotten
anniversaries of first meetings or
first conversations, or first hand-holdings,
I still don't seem to remember
As I try and find sleep on the couch tonight,
Oh, my bundle of organised chaos,
My lover of trivial celebrations,
My collector of silver and purple lanterns,
Do you think I can't hear you impatiently turn?
Did you really think you could sleep soundly?
Do you think I don't know it is for me you yearn,
The outcast, the culprit, forced into exile unfairly?
I can foresee the very moment you'll press into the sheet,
The instant before you'll resign that you can take it no more,
I can sense the very second you're biting your lip,
I know you thought-deep, there's no deeper I can go,
And in that beautiful, eternal pause,
Between bite of lip and sigh of concession,
Between stubborn resilience and renunciation,
We'll both wait, tugging at the palpable tension,
Which is the test of my punisher's power,
And for me, a premonition of the sweet taste of love,
That is about to follow, just the moment after.