Forlorn Lover III

You left. But you forgot your poetry. What do I do with it? Set it ablaze? But how do you burn something already burning in you?

Today, I wore the last drop of our perfume and the smell of you followed me everywhere. I returned home, sodden in my own tears. Of liberation. Of nostalgia. After today, I won't have to remember you. I will wash clean this dress, rid it of every scent. I will bury deep the empty peach container of our perfume. Then you will be forgotten.

But here I am, again, your poetry in my heart with my soul on fire...

love not meant to be

what do you do with love not meant to be?

do you shove it back to the heart, its root

and let the rough spiky hairs pierce you

or vomit it out of your mouth and burn in a furnace?

do you leave it locked up in the bedroom

seeking liberation

and walk around, body like carcass

or do you carry it along

trudging from its weight and pain

tripping, rising, slogging?

would you rather live the love in faith

like the mustard seed

feign blindness and ignorance?

embrace its folly and just smile

even when your eyes harbour tears

and your stomach rumbles: this love is not yours

what do you do with love not meant to be?