I’ve told you my secrets,
now tell me your lies;
how you can’t let me go
and you don’t want to try;
though you’ve loosened my teeth
and busted my jaw,
you love me completely,
much more than before;
and now that you’ve beaten
my face blue and black,
how grateful you’ll be
if I’ll just take you back.
Tell me you’re sorry,
you just lost control;
you never intended
to hurt me at all.
Then bring me a cuppa
and kneel by my chair;
beg my forgiveness,
and brush back my hair.
Adore me, amour me,
and make a great fuss;
then tell me a story,
that glorifies ‘us’.
© Abigail Wyatt
Dennis Waterman's ex-wife: 'The truth is out over beating claims'
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Abigail was born in Essex and now lives in Cornwall. She writes poetry and short fiction and pokes her nose into places where it is generally little wanted.
