Devotion
Cry me an ocean,
My man lacks devotion,
To me, to me.
But on Sundays,
He practices the holy act of devotion without motion,
When his butt is glued to the couch
And his eyes to the TV.
Every Friday night,
He displays devotion to commotion
When he drinks at the local bar
And starts a drunken fray.
He also has an annoying devotion to my lotion.
He says he must slather it on,
Or his delicate skin will decay.
He’s absolutely the biggest proponent of devotion to self-promotion,
Which is probably why he strayed.
I think I’ll practice some emotion devotion
And get the hell away.
