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.
.
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