iii (dying love)

he loves me,
he loves me not.
loves me again,
but it gets lost.

what sweet love lingers
in the petals that i carry,
falling and wilting
slowly but surely

i wish i could convince him
to love me more —
alas, it is now up to chance
up to the petals that he now plucks

one after another
my heart stings more and more
he loves me, it mends;
he loves me not, it breaks.

all till the last petal remains
so delicately poised on its remaining bridge to love,
hanging on a chance
on a thought
on a moment of hope —

oh so sad,
how nothing cannot save this dying love.