Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

"You and that open marriage thing,”
she said to me last night
when I suggested that she see him.
I don’t read her emails,
but I can read her eyes—
they were misty with denial.
She never stopped loving him.

She married me as the alarm rang
on her biological clock,
a traditional marriage, after a sort.
Except that we arranged it ourselves.
Like any contract, ours
has implied covenants (we’re both Catholic),
which she scrupulously observes.

These fresh faces who live with us
mingled our blood, will retell our myths.
When I awaken in the depths of the night,
I reach over, and touch her.
Only once or twice has she spoken
out of a troubled sleep.
What is love against this?

the complexity of ourselves and our relationships never ceases to surprise me with new looks inside....your poem is full of the honesty and sadness that can permeate us.....thanx for sharing....

Indeed.
Beauty of the core depth here.
Fantastically written.
H