Of Love Clove Poem by Alex Retzlaff

The way she used to look at me.
The way she used to make me feel so free.
The interior finally reveals from the exterior.
Lies, Cries, Help's and pleas.
How many crimes can a woman commit at one time?
The number is self based and traced back to the past.
The love, the hate, even the falsifying word 'discriminate'.
I try to eliminate all possibilities of lies, cheaters, and even decievers.
I told myself i loved her.
I told myself i was sure.
But was i sure about the way she wanted pleasure or who she measure up To be?
I never really could answer that until she began to procrastinate
And seem so compassionate over nothing but to make me feel so uncoordinated.
I balled and swelled but nothing will mount to the true meaning of love.
The true meaning of love on that paradise of a clove.