Good Things Come In Threes (or that one time I wrote a poem about murder)

The first time you died was when you met her
You came home and I saw the light in your eyes

My smile is fixed as you describe her work
And I could feel the fires of your love for me die

I did not weep until you'd gone, my tears saved for the next day

The second time you died was with her in the car

The crash, then the funeral, you stood; a shell
You died a death inside, and I knew if you could
You would swap us around and send me to hell

I did not weep till late at night, but my love for you would stay

The third time you died there was nothing for me
We had such hopes, I recall as my hands tightened
A necklace of the dust of my love gave you a blue blush
Your last death was mine and I found myself enlightened

I did not weep for you, my love, I just let you fade away