We met on the morning when the sun waded
through the window
mopping up the nights shadows as it invaded
every corner of my working space.

I was ready to react to other poets at work on AP.
She came along with a blistering title
and abundance of words, beguiling
and packed with imagery, dark and dense,
laced with succinct and sinful metaphors
wolves and watchmen, ****** energy swirling
around in thickets and primroses
promises broken and bleeding on the threshold
of their hearts, but gone, each on their own
sun and sin  sprinkled pathways to other partners.

Only she wrote poems
He wrote her off!

Who was this stranger, tearing her heart out
on these pages, soulful and sinful, unheeding,
unashamed at being beaten and bruised
by her lovers tantrum now
migrated  to a new nest of instant *******.
She bled her words out in rhyme and rhythm
Holding on to fragments of a dream
fast fading at the edges.

I wrote her some lines of happiness
instinctively telling her to calm down
and think about what freedom meant
and where it lead  in the rocking horse world
of thin relationships.


She replied with two words
in acid structure: *******!
I never heard from her again.

The sunshine continued to invade the day.

Author Notes

True story. Old story. Love story are born and die this way. There are hundreds of poems on this site that used just those words when either gets dissed. Bad luck goes good luck comes. The sun continues to invade the day.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.