My husband likes to say that love is blind,
and little flaws are meant to be forgot.
This morning while washing out my thong
I checked his phone for texts, all is not fine
since I read them. Killing comes to mind.
The photos on his phone are steamy hot,
I didn’t recognize my best friend Charlotte,
all dolled up in black lace, the sex store kind.
My therapist would say forgive, move on
and I try my best but it’s not easy
although slicing up his boxers helped a bit
as did forwarding his boss those dick pix
from my husband’s phone. Love might be blind
to little flaws but not the cheating bastard kind.