Dear, Dear

Him:
Oh darling, true, it's all gone wrong. Forgive me, won't you, dear?
I don’t deserve your smile and laugh, a hint of that good cheer.
I blame myself enough as is. I know it’s all a mess.
I’ve come to make things right again. A scoundrel, to confess!

Her:
Of course, my love, how well you spoke to leave the self alone;
up to the threshold, high on words, all fire and brimstone,
safe in the knowledge things inside need never have to change,
your head in ashes you step forth to face the firing range.
Yet somehow bullets whiz and crack and bounce off painlessly—
you seem as patient with yourself as oft severe with me.

Him:
Oh heavens, sunshine! Yes you are right, of course I must reform.
A sinner, I admit it all. This will not be the norm.
Tomorrow I will start again more conscious and awake
to all my minor quirks and faults, if only for your sake.

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