The accusations, interrogations,
The threats of ending us.
Lamentation, of an aberration
Of love that lived alone, so long.
The blood that pumps, your cause,
Does not dry, but ebb and flow.
But interruptions, from obstructions,
Can lead it to die instead of grow.
Without communicating,
How do we form our interpretations?
Absent enumerating,
What is love? But an unsolvable equation. And if all we are, is wrong,
The only answer is separating