He promised her

his love was true

so he slaughtered his dog, drowned his cats

and burned down his house

all for her, just for her

and he called her house his home

and her dog his own

and her cats were the only cats he had ever really loved

his heart was true

and it was just for her, it had always been  hers.

 

And then one day

he saw her putting her lipstick on

with her shaky, unsteady drinking hand

and he wonder how she ever managed to get her numerous glasses of wine to her lips.

Did she spill it? How often did the drops hit her chin? Did that same unsteady hand

drop  cigarette ash over her  expensive bed quilt in a fine powdery mist?

When she winked and threw her head back and laughed and shook

her thinning hair he wondered if she had always winced like that, and put her hand to

the top of her head to steady it as if was she trying to stop the room from spinning

around?

 

The truth is, he didn’t see her eternal beauty

he wasn’t feasting on their eternal love

he only  saw his burned down house

the ghosts of his heartbroken dog and betrayed cats

the rats that came to feast on their bones

and he convinced himself when he saw these things

that all he saw was her beauty,

he told himself  he could think of nothing else.