on the cigarettes there in the ashtray.
Lying cold the way you left them,
but at least your lips caressed them
while you packed.
Or the lip print on a half-filled cup
of coffee that you poured
and didn't drink.
But at least you thought you wanted it
which is so much more than I can say for me.
It's been a good year for the roses
Many blooms still linger there.
The lawn could stand another mowing
it's funny, I don't even care
But as you turned and walked away
As the door behind you closes
The only thing I thought to say
was what a good year for the roses
After three, four years of marriage
it's the first time that you haven't made the bed
I guess the reason we're not talking,
is there's so little left to say that we haven't said
While a million thoughts go racing through my mind
I guess I haven't said a word
From the bedroom, the familiar sound
of our one baby's crying goes unheard