Pimping out our love in poems...

Some love affairs go on too long in our heads,

The truth is we have become our own sad poems,

Our mouths opening and closing, weeping and wailing,

Adjectives and prepositions, disconnected nouns and verbs,

Inside our strangeness and clumsiness,

We yearn for the fire of yesterday’s love,

half falling over ourselves in the dark,

wearing mufflers, blinders and Mona Lisa smiles

Suffering and Reveling at the same time,

like nightly bridge walkers, or roof servants,

or chimney sweeps, black of heart, cold of statue,

Undefinable, Undeniable, breathing in the soot

of our heart’s desires, teetering on the edge of

then and now, spooning with the moon,  

while conjugating and reveling in blurred

poetry meant for another.