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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

I think

we both lost the war.