to bear,
if only you sweetened pure,
could I ever imagine a love not sore.
I was baking you a cake, sweetheart.
and as I turned to set the oven,
you slipped in underneath my chin,
pouring on my batter
your gasoline; a layer thin.
I could not have known,
until it exploded at my stove,
my love,
I’m tired and burned,
I’m weakened by your love.
I am sore.
if only, love, you sweetened pure.
to bear, my love
I will no more.