He makes promises like they’re going out of fashion.

There are the obvious ones, of course,

Like to have and to hold, in sickness and health.

Then he will tell me he’ll cook the dinner and feed the cat,

He’ll mend the car and bring down my water bill.

I’m not sure which I can trust on these tiring days

When promises bleed, one into the other

Like colours in water, pretty to start

But the more they spread, the uglier they get

And now those promises look garbled and choked,

The images they paint are faded from sight.