blue abstract love

he was borrowed from his own glitter and beads home world

even though his wife sold her soul

to the Money God

and I kept telling myself

never look a gift horse in the mouth

as my mother used to say

to the limits beyond her understanding

but sexual desire and love sometimes do not conflate

they seem to be two different things in the world

like night and day, sun and moon

black and white, death and life itself

it becomes an abstract painting in which he can see

all his dirty deeds

when he washed away all his sins

in the river and went home

seriously thinking about returning

but there’s nowhere to go

when he burned all the bridges in one fell swoop

never asking how I felt

is it supposed to be love if he never dared to care?

compared

to an ordinary street harlot

I guess he was used to it