Verily I tell you,
they were all con-artists—
masters of sham
Pretending to be foundation,
such stuff that our feminine dreams
could be made on.
In my case,
two claimed lover.
Claimed loyalty. Claimed laudable.
Verily I tell you,
we’re all con-artists
all pretending to be
what we are not.
Why place such weighty blame
on those who claimed
to love when they could not
did not love?
Claiming love
is one heavy crime
requires stealth, clothing far mightier
far more deceiving than a sheep’s.
Requires a currency of clothing
That once belonged to us—
In your case, dear friend,
your lovers did not claim
to be anything for you.
And I wonder if anyone
has ever told you
“I Love You”
Wonder if your own lips
have ever mouthed the words.