There are two beautiful people
no one would take their eyes off them
on a garden bench they sit, surrounded by flowering plants,
all exquisite orchids, that make the air fragrant,
behold! these lovers hold something in their hands,
sharp like silver ice picks, with a cruel pride
something fashioned from their love it is,
(what is the necessity, I can't think)
but why they wield it carelessly
at the slightest provocation,
hurting each other with every deliberate move?
bleeding from the wounds gets worse
but they get more and more engrossed -
in this blood letting game  like an enraged pair of foes,
their moments of togetherness become a war for supremacy.
I am just a butterfly,
in love with every lovely flower
guilty of flitting from one to the other
call me disloyal,
but never dream of hurting any one
in the name of love like this.
no one explained to me why
human love has taken such a turn.