Funeral of Romantic Love

We, Romantics, look at the Earth

Through the cracked lens of faith

Twisted prism of old beliefs got stuck in our pupils

We’re blind to reality.

We worship the old god

So-called Romantic Love

We collect her ancient bones

And make matching bracelets

For the Loves of our Lives

Trapped like flies

In the viscid web of chance.

Caught in the cobwebs hanging from sonnets

Pressed like violets between moth-eaten pages

Our delusions persist for ages.

We’re so incorrigible, indeed

It makes everyone sick

To the funeral of past loves

We come all dressed in new hopes

We pour neediness into a silver bowl

And bathe in it, masturbate in it

The ecstatic apogee of the Wertherian masochist!

Behind the worried backs and condescending frowns

We inject fairytales into our burning veins

The fantasy of a Twin Flame

The other half of the perfectly complete soul

We refuse to see we’re already whole.

We’re so lost in this new world

Where one does not fall in love

But flies with it

In a damn swan flock

Where passion and joy dance just for a song

In the endless ballroom of choice

Where one plus one equals three

Or five or more

Where shoulds and musts

Are replaced by wants

Where suffering is not part of the deal

Where finally you fall asleep

In the arms of your greatest love—


So come and sit with me, my Friend

With your dry wine and even drier poetry

Let’s drink and sing for the beloved deceased

She will be sorely missed

Star-crossed Lovers

Red Thread of Fate

Romeo and Juliet.

It’s been all dismissed.

The Queen is dead, long live the Queen—