talk is cheap my darling

she was me,

only at an oh so tender

23,

full of light

and vibrancy

dealing him cards

marked

cool,

he was her model father

only far less cruel,

making her feel

wanted and interesting,

making her feel

her heart could sing,

with bare minimum given,

he became addicting,

attachment locked on,

in a superficial fling,

he came with words,

promising a ring,

but his talk is cheap

my darling,

your youth is not,

and that’s what he bought,

do you realise how fast

you are aging?

dysfunction can often

feel like love

when you didn’t have examples

of truth above

and unless you seek,

you will never find,

as your true love ideals

fade to a construct of the mind,

sex is not love

and attention?

just the glove,

masking the withered hand

of a broken man

far too many years above