Modern Love
The jack hammer on the street,
cannot compete, with the thudding of my heart,
Oh lest you think, it beats for something sweet,
you’ve got it wrong—its torn apart,
And the constant fret that decorates the edge
of the skinned ripe cherry pulpy thing called my heart
laced with sadness, forget to recall the ledge
wished it was the liver instead
assigned to sting
And I don’t want to read another poem
from those in the know, about love
And every other poetic thing bring to light
why you left me or let me go or let me go in order
to hold on,
or why one shouldn’t hold on too tight
or how the color white brings to mind milk,
touting the words milk, or undulating
in every single modern poem,
and how the word single,
reminds me
reminds me
me,
that its just me.
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