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.
