(painting by Jean Francois de Troy)
Despite the love, the kind words,
his promises, his lies,
I keep getting lost in thoughts
that sting me like Autumn flies.
When was the last time he bathed...in liquid,
when did he last take off that wig,
last night's dinner I can still see under his nails,
chicken with sweet caramelised fig.
It's not that I bathe all that often,
once a fortnight, twice... sometimes,
but he stinks like a wild boar,
what have I done to edure such crimes....
I want to shout...
"Oh have a bath",
"Get your figgy hand off me",
I'd rather take the dog to bed",
"I'd rather bed the queen herself!"...
I smile and pull back to avoid the stench
I wish his hand I could forcefully wrench,
For the love of God I need some air,
such torment is just not fair.
