Reviving Lovesick Poem by Amy Marie

I inevitably enter
The real room of Lovesick.
Her love room:
Where she made love
First to Destiny
Then to Fate: Her Death.

In the dim room
Lovesick had placed her
Young picture beside
The aging bed for Destiny.
An elegantly inevitable memory
Elegant

Who did scatter
Her cherry-red beads
Bouncing across the lightless wood floor?
They decorate her pale body
Like hardened circular flowers
And decorate her hair like collected combs.

Jeweler-like
I snap the bountiful beads
Back together. Once Femininity's
Beads – but granted
As a gift to Lovesick.
But Femininity is not Lovesick.

The beads once again circle
The body's neck: opening her eyes
Like a found long-lost book.

Now rediscovered –
Lovesick rediscovers

Survival.