The Red Wine Widow?

Crisp, clean cotton sheets smelling of red wine
Oh why do you have to drink
Husband of mine?

Every Friday tea time is always the very same
You pour your first glass of wine
I think it’s such a shame

Whilst you stare at the tv screen
I am watching you
That glazed expression on your face
As you fill glass number two

It’s as if you have a magic glass
I never ever see the bottle
As I glance across the room
Your complexion is a grey, puckered mottle

Every single weekend as soon as its Friday night
It’s an identical routine 
Me in my emotional plight

I’m lying in my bed you are facing my way
Wishing you’d turn around
I can only hope & pray

I hate this wafting smell 
filling the bedroom
As I lie feeling only sadness & habitual gloom

When your head hits the pillow
The noises appear
You pop & blow every other second I fear

Minutes later 
my allergy is back
I am completely stuffed up
With a dam coughing attack

So I gather my tinnitus aid 
I creep away to the spare room
As I’m coughing & spluttering
In a state of exhaustion & doom

You hate me in the other room
So I lie with unease
It’s early hours of the morning 
As I cough & wheeze

A strange pattern of events 
Alas I know so well
I hate the weekends
Saturday’s the same Oh hell

I am a red wine widower
It has got a hold of you
You cannot live without it
Tho it makes me so blue

But it is taking it’s toll
Your hands continuously shake
I wish you’d get sick of it
& Give me a break

Years & years of the same sickening sulphur smell
Oh how I hate your red wine habit
It’s driving us to hell