The Death of Love
The death of love numbs like paralysis
Or like a tetanus infection in
A purple vein, a poison sans its hiss,
A serpent spurting venom lacking sin.
This end has lain, lurked voiceless from the start
Behind an evergreen, beside a rock,
Unknowable to an unsuspecting heart
Until the revelation of fate’s shock.
We could have seen it coming, prophesied
Contagion, toxins, rot. In fact we did,
But let lips, kiss and tongue act as eyes, lied
With tongues touching tips, caressing each lid.
Probably our bones knew better than our
Hearts. We ignored the skeletal dumb lour.