At the stroke of Love we
        both became poets and...
At the strike of a heartbreak we became a
                  a Sad
                   Sad
              Sad Poem

Now we both think and believe love is pain...
Always and inevitably painted and scripted in painful vowels
        And all promises in it nothing but broken dry ‘vow-wells’

Our bodies lying next to each other, yet, windows to hearts shut
The sun in our eyes turning ice-cold
This
is
the
Afterlove
              where...
Without one another, we
           keep kissing each other’s shadows and silhouettes
Baby, could there be a life after love? In the Afterlove...?