I Don't Like Your Smile

I don't like your smile,
for your smile tells a lie.

I don't like the way you smile.

The curl of your upper lip reveals
the one, sharp canine bearing witness
to a left-over meal.

The chin tightens inward to give
depth to the dimple like a spear
piercing the soul.

Your nose rides upward like that of
a shoat sniffing the aroma of
fresh feces.

Your ears fold back like that of
a dog tensing, readying for
a surprise attack.

Your smiles seems to show joyful thoughts,
but your eyes reveal revile of the thoughts
at hand.

The whites of your eyes are faint with
red spider webs which encircle the
midnight pupils. Piercing the light
and wavering not, your orbs stay
upon your chosen prey.

I swear I shivered.
Yet, I cannot determine if the tremor
resonates from your chest of cold stone,
or if the growl flowing from your
hollow throat cause me to quake.

I know not your thoughts.
Nor should I want their touch.
Your smile gives you away.
Your soul cannot hide
your truest intentions.
Your smile tells a lie.