Our love
Is like the coffee mugs
Left unwashed in the sink
After a night of warm conversation.

Our love: it’s like a corner,
Folded in a book;
Jutting out, of a stack of old newspapers.
No, our love is a corner, gathering dust.

No, our love is the cul-de-sac
In the lives we had decided
To simply, be dead ends,
Like complex knots.

Our love is sea foam,
Breaking on the shore,
But, with the waves,
Appearing in brief moments.

Our love is not alive.

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Touched up an old piece. I’ll get around to touching up and posting the poems I wrote in camp the past two weeks, sooner or later.

Most likely later.