Love 2

2.

Love is a blustery fellow.
He takes me on carnival
rides, swings me through
air like a doll. I'm a doll
with strings; I'm a puppet.
I fly, I fall, I twitch.

Love is tall and thick
and loud. He orders me
about. I obey. I obey
for the joy of it, for
the thrill. Up we go,
and down again. When

Love leaves, he slams
the door. The window crackles
and breaks. For months,
for years, I gather slivers
of glass from the floor. Broken
glass. Yellow, blue. Red.

This is part of a series I'm working on. Part 1 is here.