We went to battle, you and I,
in what I call our “I love you more” wars,
Where words were thrown
and set aside – or buried –
beneath wishing stars, or left
in burned and ruined halls –
small monuments to lovers’ leaps:
altars to our later fall.
We split in half; we broke apart
into half-murmured apologies,
sentence fragments and horrid grammar:
Insults, arguments and the youthful folly
of torrid love affairs, of fierce clinging
and the sacrifice of innocence did follow
as we fell into lies, mistakes, deceit.
A mutilated moiety, books once-balanced
then hove into view listing badly to port
underneath stars and signs that did portend
tangled, undone threads and endings.
Promises kept or not, we wept
and fell apart and fled so far,
So much that
we both lost the war.