our love played out
like a cheap romance novel
each end battered, torn
fantastic love making once or twice
at the end of one or two
chapters
but mostly a hell of a lot of words
going nowhere.
our love played out
like a Raymond Chandler book
fast talk and violence
zippy one liners
you looking sharp and smart
me not giving a damn
every chapter a crime scene baby
nothing left but sadness and the morning
our love played out like a mystery
who done it. who killed who
or wanted too.
we counted up the total of dead
you. me. our love. any spark.
something lying in the ditch:
an evidence of something
that tied to something
that we no longer recognized.
our love played out
all we had was the words
when they grew to be too much
we wrote the rest in silence
our love
it just played out
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem