Flowers

14 Aug

I bought you some flowers the other day,
You seemed happy to receive them.
‘But why’ you then asked, inquisitively,
Probing me for the reason.

 

The flowers I gave you were merely a gift,
A motive my Dear, I don’t need.
‘But surely there is?’ you asked me again,
And I began to regret my fine deed.

 

I love you lots, is that good enough?
I missed you today whilst away.
They’re for being you, for looking so lovely,
You’re perfect in every way.

 

‘Don’t give me that bollocks’, you started again,
Your eyes staring intently at mine.
I coughed and I spluttered and searched for an excuse,
But decided to confess to my crime.

 

‘It wasn’t the dog’, I said in a mutter,
‘That pissed on the carpet last night.
I got home drunk, and thought our room was the loo,
And that flowers would make it alright?’

 

‘The flowers are lovely’ you said with a frown,
‘But there’s something I need to tell you.
Not only did I clear up your urine today,
You left a small nugget of poo’.

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