the cynical lover

I look under things.
between them.
looking for the hidden obstacle.
the bugs.
the lies.
the niceties that let me
make a fool of myself.

thumping melons for evidence
that the smooth skin and sweet aroma
is a fabrication,
meant to leave me disappointed
and, eventually, jaded.
I am not as trusting as I once was
or would like to be.

I can not tell when manners
are all that keep you from laughing at me
as I do my word dance
and cut your name into my heart
with blades accustomed to their task.
for I have heard even the gospel
from the mouths of sweet liars.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

I could dedicate this to a few people who have left me, burned, spurned and turned to salt by the side of the road. But that would be counterproductive and a waste of my energy.