the sad and common death of love is not in flames, not in frost
in a cool indifference, instead
like they were buying a pack of cigarettes and forgot to pay
and the smoke just dissipated into the weather
leaving only the telltale odor behind
that that hazy downpour system had just blown by
uprooting every single rose
how can we forget? when the night stranded us in our solitude
that first eternity without position in the spacetime
left to chew on the raw meat of our defeat
(the superficial chunks left after a heart is ripped out)
not all of our fleshy parts survived
some roots hardened in place, never to soak with feeling again
what buries us, grave deep
in the infinite darkness where somehow, we grow
emerging numb, to breathe reanimated sunbeams
and the seasons play tricks before our noses
as the light tickles: when the rose will bloom, what smells as sweet?
so to dig us another plot to fall in, and sniff for rain...
Reflection
7:50pm monday, 20th june
Somewhat erratic..I like this........Desperation and hope collide into the fateful dichotomy...........
Reflection