She walked past,
Breezing of Chanel Number 5,
In the night,
Longing for day to come.
She pulled away the sheets,
Reeking of their scents,
Picking up the cash on the carpet,
As he turned his back and left.
He walked out,
Smelling of cigar and smoke,
Wishing he had spent the night,
With his dead wife instead.
copyright © 2016 thearcticstar
No comments:
Post a Comment