is love supposed to be this fragile
like a gossamer thread
from one heart to another
or connecting fingers one of red

a careless hand knocks across
what once blossomed
now is misshapen and torn
bringing about love's autumn

a slow contamination
drying from without
a gradual inward process
starting with simple doubt

is this to be the end of love
that infamous break of vows
once more I'd hoped to hear it
those words of long-passed nows

I cannot help the tears
which seek to comfort me
I must admit I wish it to be you
but that's the problem probably