Just how many scars
that were cut into my soul
are your handiwork?

I whisper, “Goodbye”,
close every door behind me,
and burn the house down.

Love is the ghost of
a smile, kiss, or warm embrace
echoing within.

Drops of spring weather
riddle the winter landscape –
a teasing promise.

Moving on is tough
especially when it means
burning some bridges.

I can still taste her
for hours after we’ve parted;
her love still remains.

The taste of her lips
was a light dollop of cream
and a heap of hell.

Our magnetic lips:
drawn together easily,
difficult to part.

Please give me a smile
a little ray of sunshine
to brighten my day.

Her only crimes were
in loving too often and
always the wrong man.