the cont.
forlorn thorns
and sweet peace,
were carried out like
leaves of trees.
she thought
her "love" was
ineffable.
in those ephemeral
moments when
infatuation seemed love
and
lassitude was masked with
scintilla of joy,
nothing hurt like
the words,
"i'm sorry,
we're over."
tears leaked
from the sparkle
of his eyes,
a plethora of
sadness woke
from its dormant
slumber,
waiting for the clock
to tick and tock.
he may have hoped
for a sanguine
ending, which she
did too,
but the paradox of life
led her to decide
that love was far
from over, near,
and ever after.
she was ebullience
and she hoped he was too.