The habituation of dentists and couples

 This woman crosses the room to her wardrobe,
careful not to scratch the door with those long nails
The observer watched from inside the bedroom door.
Its blood tipped tooth stuck in the carpeted floor.
She thinks she's figured it out, but can't help but shirk,
somewhere in the shadows the answer lurks.

A shirt was pulled from the clean clothes.
Hands ruffled then smoothed the material like truth into lie.
A perfectionist's drive the elegant woman breaks and cries.
A formal dress she stepped into beside the bed.
As the mirror swallows the tears, the working hour nears,
drawing them upward in strange sliding smears.

Her man unconsciously opened the bedroom door.
She searched for care on his face, her eyes bore.
His eyes were routine his body language between.
One task and another with an anxiety felt but unseen.
That dried her eyes and the stairs down toward the business.
His footsteps continued behind her, for she couldn't convince,
climbing one step at a time toward the home office.

The mirror caught another tear all sorts of panic all sorts of fear.
Had she not pretended enough, how emotions impair... signs?
Another blood tipped tooth and unpaid fine.
She looked down to check the damage.
frown compounded patience ended fast.
then looked back to her feelings in the glass.