When Love Taste Like Paste


When love taste like paste,

Glue that once held us together

Is absent a forgiving flavor

Or embrace of sweet or sour.

“I love you;”

Texted apart during a light rain

Outside my window where children

Just sat drawing on the driveway pavement

Some innocent hearts with arrows

Before moving children indoors

Before the sidewalk chalk

Is bleeding edges of green grass

To pale, dull blades.

Sort of misreading and misleading

A tapered neighborhood lawn

Only for consecrating a past with meaning,

Some childish scribbling

Now milking

Pooling along the edging.


Love is an action word

Upon word upon word

Till book or poem is finished

And bound so human hands can hold

The strength or weakness of heart and soul.


But here we are

In such an unbinding state,

Over and over again

Writing with chalk

On concrete slabs

Where wind cannot turn pages

And rain falling with an erase

When love taste like paste.



Categories: Life, Observations, Poetry

8 replies

  1. You keep me guessing what genre and POV you’ll post next. Certainly the most eclectic, brilliant blog I follow. Needless to say, I loved this piece.

    “Writing with chalk
    On concrete slabs
    Where wind cannot turn pages
    And rain falling with an erase”

    Favorite section, but difficult to choose.


  2. You, my favorite reader, Ms. Menopause have always left me guessing…. wondering how you know my most brilliant parts, how you know my disguise, how you read me so well, and where your heart has been. I do appreciate you.


  3. beautiful as love is a game of lose and the iceing taste of love truely, erevacable turns to the paste.
    thanks for the glimpse into your heart.


  4. Thank you …… we all miss the icing taste.


  5. I enjoyed that. The excerpt that Miss Menopause posted was also some of my favorite lines.


    • David…..Ms Menopause is a very bright woman….definitely our type


      • Miss/Ms Menopause wonders what it means when David refers to her as Miss but EL…well EL does not.


      • David is West Coast and I’m East Coast……I would never assume as David would, or believe a writer’s pen is true…..since my name is not really EL….EL sounds so much better than my real name , Mark Twain…..I am not sure if you are married or not….so I refer to you as Ms……I am not sure you have been through menopause, not that it matters because we do not share the same thermostat…..ps….my real name is Paul


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