The hope of loving, guns combusted
She thinks of love, but never acts it
He thinks of her and then thinks past her
Laid out, her roses alabaster
She folds her infants in, what tactics
We live to love, but death is faster
She burned his books, his mistress mastered
The dictionary charred, now brown and spastic
Was that the smoke in which he’d tossed her?
The feel of loving surges swifter
The clothes they wore agon, elastic.
Metric, rhyme thus he confused her.
He feels her still and feels it juster
To betray , to make her more didactic
When he’s the one who marred her lustre
Would you say the dialogue’s defective
Or is it good to add invectives?
The lust of loving makes us bastards
He longed for her but lived on after
How my heart sings 