Live for, die for
Love once saw himself
in a mirror
and was trapped
by the void
of his own being,
he was all heart
and no head.
It was
an image of himself
that he would
never forget
and ever since that day
you can find him
on dance floors
between partners,
he is the perspiration
on the palms
of two lovers,
the frame
holding the
pictures.
He lives in flowers
and on king size beds,
the static
on the phone
between
long distance lovers.
He relents
on rare occasions
usually
when lust swoons him,
the trickery
of her movements
he can never
resist
and so Love
dies a slow
and misleading
death
one that
pretends
to be alive.
Love
is ashamed
by his
contenders.
He hangs
on the letters in poems
written from
one lover
[...] Read more
poem by Vanessa Grixti
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