Lover to None
Murky letters in the print of obscenity
The presence or no of the certain ink blots
The certain tear spots
And stains of other origin took to the stationery
Whether it be cheap or expensive,
Plain white or lined,
Typed or written (but normally written)
The desperation of the moment was not one in grief
It was not one in sadness,
In love or in pleading,
But rather in anger, frustration, and anger
A relationship built on dependency
And in the light of being "single"
In the light of being able to be oneself
"Gifts" just get thrown back at the giver
And love seems to only be spite
Whether or not it gets sewn back together,
Even when it is stuck together,
Like a jigsaw there are cracks
Like his embroidery, there are stitches,
No matter how neat, clean, and pretty they are
Like two nations separated by a red line on a map
They will never be one,
And they will never go back.
