How Abashed One is to Find Oneself So Easily De-Boned

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.

.