Wifey, oh wifey,
you are my tuna casserole,
my chicken parm.
A bottle of Bud Select,
rolling closer and closer
to the roof's edge.
our terrace
our house
our wine
our cheese
Utopian vision,
this marriage.
Your bedroom
and mine.
Separate,
but together.
The way a marriage should be.
1 comment:
I'd like to think I'm the mess you'd wear with priiiide. Like some empty dress on the bed you've layed out for tonite. Maybe I'll tell you sometime. tiiiimmeee. You were right, riiiight.
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