There’s No Warranty With Love Poem by Vincent James Turner

Morning creeps upon us suddenly:
mimicking deaths technique.
Opening smudged eyes
we happen upon emptiness.
Clawing our fading dreams
as though they were
Helium balloons snatched from our grasp
It’s been a long time coming:
Happiness is not a hamlet cigar
but the jealous sister of love.
Look how you recoil
When I breathe sleep from my mouth.
Cupid’s the culprit here!
Callous and corrupt!
those love laced arrows
never came with no receipt
or warranty
it pledged no refund-
but we where moths to the ballet of flame
fluttering, foolish,
fraught with the image of a future alone.

And I bought into your gaze
never thought to question his aim
then shooed him on
as though he were someone else’s child.
We was never to know
love lasts but three years.
First cracks came with Sunday sex
Followed by a gaining of weight
And a joint desire to buy cookery books
Just to keep the illusion alive.
Second came the fracture-
A replacement of lip to cheek
Shared bath to locked door
You’re back a bawl of night
Then the final chink of finality
Your incessant pleading for child.


N.B- Not sure if i am finished with this one yet, I think i have the idea, although not yet sure if the poem is communicating my intention,
any thought, feedback, cruel or kind, would be most welcomed.

best regards

Vincent