Broken splices

I found you in my bed last night,
just three 8mm frames.

You were in that long white hippy dress,
your hair glowing in late sunlight,
(that evening playing with the dogs).

I didn’t tell my wife.
Unlike those years with you,
she hasn’t been through a film making affair
finding cut frames,
peeled off splicing tape,
curved ends of white leader
that stick to your skin. Everywhere.
Until now.

I hope she’ll understand.