How Love Shall End? Poem by RIC BASTASA

at this age, who shall ask about how love
began? if it came in my mind, it is not because i conceive it,
it came by pure
accident, someone mentions a very good beginning,
tight lips, vine-like embraces,
sweat all over the bodies
in a room with no window open.

i am so guilty about what i entertain as a prolonged thought
like a scheme of things
how a glass is crushed against a rock in slow motion
classified as art,
how the tiny pieces gleam against the sound of crashing
eyes screaming and
hands still hiding inside the pockets
of the abdomen
like a kangaroo taking away all its bag of thoughts away
in safe haven,

i am trying to spell departure, planning to have an exit
that graceful one
without any shame at all

i am wondering if this matter could still be put under the domain
of words or on the category of
motion.