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.

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Categories: Life, Observations, Poetry