Alone again

Love dies like every living
&
in stories you see her,
alone again
&
everything seem like a template
for the hunger that is eating us.
Resin wounds hide
among the barks of trees in the backyard,
their faces swallowed by mist,
repeating poems.
These poets speak like
they can age need like wine
or she becomes like brine in a barrel.
Is this what it means to love?
To urge for change?
The ebb of bird wings
spread the sky across
the flate plate of space.
She said, it takes strength,
so you hold on until she loses her teeth,
then reluctant like the last parts
of a good song, you let go.
You feel the strength leave out the door
&
there's nothing to do but shuffle
into your room, climb back into your mouth
&
lick the sticky sweetness of desire
from your teeth.
The chronic moss struggles,
squeezes the green out
of sunlight
&
paints the fence
you wrote in her name.
Which parts hurt the most;
her leaving
or the memory of your longing?


resin-829323_640.jpg
Pixabay

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My dear friend this your poem is more than amazing and really creative nice one friend keep it up

Thank you so much. I appreciate this.

My pleasure

Damn, this is chilling. And sadly accurate. It is impossible to judge what those we love will become. Will they be bitter and old or will they age with grace and be easy to love until the end of our days?