PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Tonight, do not talk to me of love.
I will not listen. I've heard too much
and felt too little.
Now I have heard nothing
for so long
it has become my
frame of reference.
I could be bitter, this I know.
I should rebuke myself
for such self explorations.
Tonight, do not talk to me of love.
I am not interested in symbols of comfort.
Nor do I find myself wanting
to hear your thoughts.
Your mouth looks to me like a
flapping sign advertising hand cream.
So oddly suspicious of what I assume
are your intentions.
Tonight, do not talk to me of love.
Talk to me instead of snow flakes and
poisoned apples.
Share with me your tales of how
strangers have died.
You are like that to me. A stranger
that I've slept with
for so many years.
A face I can put a name to, but not an emotion.
A body that I can fuck, but not love.
It's interesting how the
wedding pictures have dulled in intensity
as the days and nights have evolved.
Tonight, do not talk to me of love.
I will not listen. I've heard too much
and felt too little.
Now I have heard nothing
for so long
it has become my
frame of reference.