love left out overnight turns hard,
or a bruise colored bacteria host.

feed the hungry birds in the park
or journey far from love parasites.

amputate love’s sour infected wounds
from your heart with joy.
there is always more bread.

romantic love of knights and queens
never hardens or spoils beneath its glamour,
as long as the heart is kneaded
with gorgeous words
and there is will and passion to yearn.

yet if it ends and blows away like soft ash,
a fading whisper,
it wasn’t really there.
there is still more bread.

 

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