1998

I then, the codling- not quite red,
but ripe enough to allow an older him a small bite.
Sampling tastes of the peccadillo promises bled,
so cheaply from a seton he stitched upon my heart tight.
The tenacles of his clever lies and pretend love
caused the permanent ulosis on my heart.
Innocence lost; he ripped white feathers from a fledgling dove,
and when he had his way, had his fill he did depart-
from an unsuspecting me to an unsuspecting wife
oh, woe is youthful naivety  and lessons learned
those harsh truths that cut like a knife
followed by the feelings of being burned

© 2010 Lyndsey Warren