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.