Love is bitter and cold, with eyes
of blue fire. He shoves me away
with one arm; pulls me close
with the other. Leave me alone!
he shouts, his lips caressing my ear.
We court with our fists, then comfort
each other with tears. When he leaves,
he takes nothing. He dreams that I
weep in his closet, wrapped
in his clothes.
This is part of a series I'm working on.
From the Poetry Thursday site:
For the next few weeks, a few Poetry Thursday participants will take turns hosting the Thursday post on their blogs. This Thursday, September 6, please visit Delia’s blog Left-Handed Trees and Other Lies: Writing from the Roots where you will be able to a) leave your comment linking to your Thursday post about poetry, b) find out next week’s prompt, and c) find out who will host the next Thursday post. [It's The Polka Dot Witch]