Terrible to sever heaven from a heart –
although as you succumb to understanding
what had just lubriciously colluded with your hope,
maliciously created this scenario, this promise
of alluring interlude, the prospect of a lover who’d
convinced you he would prove to love (or anyway
pretend to) just enough to stay the night – at least
you’ve learned, with all its yet and yet and after,
severing’s a cunning art. Again (you dope) you lost
the part: cold-shouldered by the covert soulless
laughter in his eyes, despising, through a show
of caring for, the profitless silly scene of you.
The putative love would not remain.
Queasily quick, it crashed in the brain,
left your unusable body behind,
un-drained, maligned, disowned.
How abashed one is
to find oneself
so easily de-boned.