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Broken hearts taste like glass shards in old wine.

My affection, it grew like a tree Reaching out words like branches Chopped & sanded till you swept up the scraps With a broom of the twigs that fell off.

Poetry comes rolling out of my pursed lips like smoke curling under the door. Somebody’s going to get burnt soon.

Pretty notions, like faint moisture on her hands in the sunlight, glistened, refracted and vanished into thin air.

  The memory of him clings to the tips of her hair, like the first rain that they got caught in, inadvertently.  

The first was a warrior; he broke my heart to pieces The second an artist; he sculpted them into beauty with knife cuts The third was a trader; he bought…

Intimacy in brief, blinding flashes, like light reflecting off a knife’s edge, between our cold, hard selves.

Memories. His, thunder through her mind just like his footsteps when she was asleep. Hers, splash onto his eyes, making them water.