With feathered strokes she seals my tomb, her words, a poisoned pound of flesh;
a treatise of indifference to the love I’d thought we shared.
Then less a smile than churlish grin spreads wide across her marble face,
as documents are witnessed and one broken heart is bared.
She says that I was not the one, the all illusive mate of steel
that certainly is out there if she’d only take her time.
She says that she was testing me, alas I’d failed her once or twice
and this is proper punishment for such a heinous crime.
I know she’s danced in greener grass, no stinging nettle on their lawns,
and now she longs to whirl again amongst the fresh and new.
If only I had known her bent I’d not have parted with my soul
but rather watched her for a time, consume her retinue.
Perhaps a day will come when I might fill this gouge with truer love
and not this hesitation to commit what’s left in hand
But never will I let this die, this veiled attack upon my time;
years spent for nothing in return, my youth to silvered sand.