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.