You greeted me with open arms,
my tired and disheveled wife!
I tied the horse up to the post
and packed away my knife.
As you led me to the house,
you said you had three gifts!
A crate of dirty sheets and quilts,
the first one on your list.
I don’t want more, I just want better,
and that’s been hard to see.
Seems like it’s taken me forever,
sorting through the things you gave to me.
The second present of the three
was something I had missed.
All those months away from home
had me thirsty for a kiss.
You pressed your dry lips to my cheek,
then broke off to glance
nervously towards the mirror –
you just failed to enchant.
I don’t want more, I just want better,
and that’s been hard to see.
Seems like it’s taken me forever,
sorting through the things you gave to me.
So, as you pulled your lips from mine,
you said “here comes the third.”
From the mirror stepped a man,
your lover, I inferred.
He shot me three times, in the chest,
and pulled you to his side!
You missed my heart by just an inch,
you know, I nearly died.
I don’t want more, I just want better,
and that’s been hard to see.
Seems like it’s taken me forever,
sorting through the things you gave to me.
I crawled out to the doctor’s house –
he scraped your bullets out.
I keep them chained around my neck
as I limp about.
I found your address with some work,
I write to tell you this:
“I’m coming to return the bullets,
and then take another kiss.”