Read a sample

Love is that little thing

that people say

when they wish to use you,

and then abuse you.

Love is that flowered field,

of all false plants,

like plastic grass

and broken things.

Love is that welling smile,

that slowly turns

upside down

and sours, puckered

into frowns

when your expectations are all put down.

Love is that bitter pit

that bursts from lips

in savage rage and hot tirades

the lovers spat

goes tit for tat

out in public and behind closed doors,

it leaks embarrassment for all those moored.

Love is…

that sullen thing

which began so thrilled

with fast heartbeats and frequent touches

that longing and dragged on nights

of talking and caressing kisses.

Of sweet nothings and belonging,

longing,

for familiarness and far forgetting

turned to spurns and old regrets:

points,

blames,

games,

pregnant scares,

and all the rest.