I am Temperance. I am Love.

I am the big, black, stomping boot
that crushes your glass heart
into one hundred thousand tiny broken pieces
beneath its sole.

This is me.

Your silver-winged Dovelet,
Your battle-wearied cooking pans,
Your thousand blood-kissed roses,
and diamonds cutting up your hand.

A butterfly flick-
           of lashes on your cheek.
A kiss-
        that is death.

That we may know despair.
That we may know anger.
Fearing our lusting, yet lusting still for fear.

The Puritanical Fury of being Unrequited--
Unnoticed--
Unloved.

Turned away. Told to accept our falls with grace and dignity.

I say **** it!
I say stand!

Raise your bolts of white-lightning fury and
Do a little heart stomping of your own!
Crush as you are crushed.
Devour those who would devour you!

We are one. Ill-matched, lace-broken, burned-fingers pair.

Upon each other we wreak and reap--
        Only natural weapons allowed: Misery, Condescension, and
                                                             ­           ***-Holery.
No K-Bars, surgical tubing, duck-tape or ****-******* false ***** available.

Do me right.
***** me right.
**** me over with that one hated word.

I have no temperance.
I will love.