"She reassured me with an unfamiliar line."
Love is a mystery school, yearning for sages
well able to reckon sixes from nines.
True wits should elect sin's disbursements
rather than reflect on love's scenes of rushing bunglers.
Love is sick, blind, unkind. Aren't we cruel?
She chided: brush your flapper, dying blue
between that pair of cheese crackers.
Remove the Devil's Pitchfork from your hair.
Doubling as Dracula, your zeal repealed
by loving an unpersuaded other.
Stay not inconsolable, my weaning one!
She knelt beside me, interpolating my orations.
Entreat for veritable blindness to take better blame.
Apathetic to any flame, resisting even sipping sunshine
interred in the long night of voluminous drapes,
pray for cardiac arrest to efface 1700 hours of shadows.
Perhaps, pray you would love me, and I shall say something of it.
That hollow heart, once plumped and full
to bursting with that sweetest of all milks
No echo was heard when life's fat fingers
thumped against it, to feel it, so ripe and sweet
Such abundance it did hold; a trove to be treasured,
rich disbursements to be made of warmth and care
Now drained; it's flaccid as an empty bladder,
with nothing left but a sour smell of bitterness
Squeezed; twisted in the ringer to leech the last drops
......and out they dripped, one by one, like bloody tears
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