The sacred truth, now broken as lies spill from his lips
his tongue blood-red and thick with the stain of wine
the fact checker of the vine on which the falsehoods trip
but she cares not that he lies for he is nothing but a pawn
a body to warm her lonely thighs until the morning comes
and now, in dawn’s broken light, as he turns and sighs, I love you
she recognizes the untruth that spills from his morning eyes
as the room fills with the sound of a thousand buzzing flies
feasting on the dinner from the night before as naked, she slips
from the sullied bed opens wide the balcony doors
and with one look back, she soars.
©2018 Linda Lee Lyberg
Author’s note: My muse took a dark turn with this piece.
Previously published on Charmed Chaos