there are no moments of distraction
when love wanes like sickly flowers in a vase
       pining is an alien preoccupation
when love has lapped your shores and ebbed
    you sleep dead like a drunken old *****
snoring the nightmares away on a bed of stone
sighs, whispers and sweet-nothings are mirages
when love won't stay for coconut juice and pulp
you don't conjure up sublime verse anymore
  after reticent love has fled your sandy shores
you don't dream up fantastic schemes anymore
    when love proves to have been a bad idea
and you were always going to be the one hurt