THREE SIDES TO EVERY STORY

I am the wife; the loving, faithful wife. His children’s mother and, he says, his life. He tells me he loves me, brings me roses And I believe him, he supposes. And yes, I do believe he loves me in his way. Love that we’ve had can’t simply fade away. But he’s not mine alone, I know full well. He forgets I never wear Chanel. I am the husband, wracked with guilt, Trapped in the web of lies I’ve built. I know in my heart the right thing to do. I stood in church and vowed to be true. But I was weak and fell for temptation And find myself in this situation. I have to end it, I know for sure. But, before I do, just one week more. I’m the scarlet woman, mistress if you will. My part in the story, a once a week thrill. A cameo role in a tale of deceit. A tale that for me must end in defeat. He says he’ll leave her; I know that’s not true. But things might change if only she knew. So I’ve thought of a plan to make him mine. I’ve sprayed his shirt with Chanel Number nine.