Love is a gnashing of teeth,
A wreath hanging on an oaken door,
More: fingers’ twitches, impulses
Taut like cello chords.

Love is self-harm,
Cutting open your wrists,
Spilling out, hoping that another
Will stuff you back in.

Love is a sad song sung
From your Adam’s apple,
Pulsing puzzling melodies
‘Til your life is well wrung.

Love is beset with regret,
Dopish hope of futures past,
Belief that relief is forthcoming.
But none is.

Love is mourning in the morning,
Waking with flitting lashes,
Gashes of tears streaking
Streams over gaunt cheekbones.

Love is loss:
A moss carpeting what was lush
Now mildewed and smoldering:
Nature reclaiming its due.

Love is what imbeciles do
When imaginations mask
Their tribulations
With tragically brief elation.

Love is bleeding calluses
Bursting over frayed guitar strings,
Moist foreheads and furrowed brows,
Plucking in the face of pain.

Love is the darkest of night,
It is the real fright you feel
When the rich black masks
You from yourself.

Love is manic, a panic
Known only to fools
Collecting pools of weeping water;
It is a neglectful father.

Love is jealous.
Love is petty.
It is overzealous ownership
Of another.

Love is a word:
You continue gleaning
Its meaning until you perish.
It is just a word.

Love is a cage

Love is a cage


One thought on “Love

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