Not Just Suds in a Sink

Suds white, foamy
I did not think them
Of import
Later, when his ire, loud
Called me back to that sink,
I only had to hear
His disappointment,
His irritation with me-
Once

Washing them away, here,
At the end of this long
Day,
So many tasks finished,
Down the drain
They dissolve.
My only thought is of
Love, and a certain lonely
Since he left us

A surface reveals only
This daily, unfinished business
It stays with me, though
Perfection;
Uneased expectation
Unsure if for me,
Or for him-
His fear
Made mine

I embrace this
Deeply held unawareness
More than he intended
Also unaware,
Then,
How doing it all the way
Always, every time
This love in diligence-
Would often leave me dirty

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