Love Poem (revisited)

The Battle

My broken heart



Your perfect indifference






I’m missing a few.


A slap in the face,

The cut to the artery,

Venom isn’t even necessary;

The wounds alone are mortal


If I sleep soundly

it is because I have stopped fighting,

not because I stopped loving.


Love isn’t measured by the slice;

It is the measure,

It is the cup

into which the heart pours.


Drink, then, drink deep.

Take your fill.

I have blood enough to

quench this and some left over to

pool in rivers at your feet.


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