by-Matthew F. Blowers III
I have murdered romance
in so many ways,
my soul is a graveyard
of former loves,
marked by stone cold faces.
I am a monument to them all,
self-centered in the boneyard
where they were callously laid.
Perhaps a tenderness
beyond my own greed
when wrapped in
the bounty of love,
would erect a pedestal to
the next lady
who captures my heart.
Bowing to her grace and beauty,
spreading flowers at her feet,
not allowing the tiny cancers
that afflict all relationships
to infest their tendrils
into our perfect coupling.
Kisses from head to toe,
nightly, cherishing her flesh,
long walks and talks,
that focus on only her
as I pay homage,
to what loneliness spurns.
For solitude is a tomb
I no longer wish to occupy.
Let the next goddess
that blesses my life,
raise me like Lazarus
from the death of romance,
and I will worship her
without regard to my
habitual failings.
I will remain
selfless before the
incredible wonder
found in the true sharing
of love with another soul