Vinegar moon

These are the waning moon days, 
not honey but vinegar, the winding down days,
apportioning days, disassembling days.
What once was ours, now simply was.

Still we’re comfortable, familiar with our tired arguments,
bite not gone but fight gone,
not worth repeating.
I can sit by you without speaking
can hardly remember when we did speak.

And my maturing body could still attract
(if i may make that assessment)
but your eyes flit past without comment
and the makeup’s now just habit.
(Look damn you.)

One might say the bloom’s off the rose
but perhaps what seemed rosy
was only dollar store potpourri 
dressed up in wedding crystal
and even that sick-sweet scent’s gone sour.

One thing about vinegar
you can use it to clean windows you know.