Where She Will Find Love

There she was moments before she flew away from the snare in your arms a songless owl. Strewn pictures on the floor, half-hearted sketches of her face, her forgotten velvet shawl with a cheap cologne that is priceless to your soul desperately in need of fragrance, her ghosts hovering to kiss your heart with vengeful fangs. Tonight where the guitar can not play itself, pieces come together to a picture with the caption 'Paradise Lost.' Night is the butler attending you with horns of tears from the wine press of memories. She walked out a ruined city from her doting watchtowers when you cheated, looted the treasuries of her maiden glory, broke down her walls with no mourner to tell of the burnt offerings of her heart on your altar of indifference in your temples of lies. She ran. She leapt into the arms of "You will return to me. No man can love you like I do." You watched her dare the paths forbidden uprooting rusted sign posts of lies. She never returned like you dreamt. Your charm failed. You crashed the glass of aphrodisiac against the wall. Sick of wishing on wishing stars you trace where the stars fall to fetch one into your hat like a gloworm. There you found her an owl that used to be the mocking bird of your of half-baked sonnets on love. She sings stars from their constellation with her muse; a man that knows not the books but is master of the art...her heart. She sings you a threnody with borrowed lyric of your wounding cusses. Here is where she finds love as she sings the songs of the free on a shattered cage outside your arms.