The ephemeral bliss,
Current feuds, tiffs and daily lashes.
Made her a bigamist.
Her beam is fading, her heart is frayed.
The past holds a lot, she won’t forget.
The echo of chortles and Memories the good old dance haunt her.
The other cheek is worn with daily turning.
His ashtray weighs heavier in magnitude than her.
In contrite’s dungeon,
She casts remorseful glares at the ring.
The ring that became a handcuff.
© Namaganda