Love is an affliction
Like an illness or stray bullet
you can’t place where it came from
or sometimes even where it begun
but it leaves a sting
--the victim often stunned at the mouth
No words for pain…excruciating
a wince or last exhalation
a million undefined words falling out in silence
--out to greet violence in a world lacking bandages
Souls bleed through thirty layers of taped gauze
even the criminal turns to gag
Thirty lovers later; loss still equates to pain
…and each one of us self injures
Product of romanticism
Would there be heartbreak if also an incapacity for love?
--and would I still wear my heart if I hadn’t a sleeve?

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