He was smitten with love for her;
by that arrow deep and sure.
A gooey warmth between them;
filling the heart all within.
But, loves shaft, festered, stinking foul;
to gangrenous, aching howl.
Through steamy glass his love moaned;
as he stood outside alone.
Those barbs cannot be reversed;
holding fast in a soul feeling cursed.
Longing for the lost one gone,
to the breast of a different one.
Love hates separating pain;
so forgives again and again.
Copyright © Christopher Bunton | Year Posted 2017
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