The Table

I know what I bring to the table  
I’m not apprehensive to sitting alone  
 
This table is draped with  
authenticity and candor  
If you’re going to pull up a chair  
be sure your intentions are explicitly clear  
all cards laid out before us,  
without sleight of hand.  
 
Don’t attempt to force feed me a hogwash of fallacies and fabrications  
When the truth inevitably comes out in the rinse  
You’ll curtly, be excused  
having simply squandered my valued time.  
  
I prefer to dine alone with cheap takeout  
Than be fed a lavish feast of vanity  
an elaborate menu of barren promises, desolate hopes, idle words, crafty illusions, and frivolous charm.  
Lacking any substance,  
left starving and unsatisfied.  
 
Instead we must serve our hearts on a silver platter  
with clandestine trimmings of  
protected confidences, harsh truths, latent secrets, inherent fears, and coveted hopes.  
Garnished with understanding, compassion, and trust.  
 
Now that’s a feast love would gorge