Ashen white eyes
woken up from sleep
by just the tiny sounds
of my stealthy escape
steer her awake.

I enter, again.
She's at the french window,
still looking out for my gait
by street light.

With ashen white eyes,
shivering hands,
and a voice pouring from
a bleeding heart,
punctured repeatedly by
my usual needle of lies

She asks:
Where did you go.
I lie.
She knows it.

She goes to bed,
teary eyed.
I stare at her
ridden in guilt.