sorrow`d lines in a Kyoto bowl

today, someone gave me a bruised rose
as I wept `neath the bonsai trees
you composed…  sorrow`d lines in a Kyoto bowl
again, I`m not virtuous with love poetry …
but I`ve reached breaking points like orphaned twigs
when snapped, whisper
of your promises; they
weigh empty on my sparrow`d feathers,
words awaited by the turbulence of your tone
that when finally spoken, tears from my lips have already
laundered away tarnished inks as if our love were false tattoos ~
the enigma of tongues who no longer french
but stand still, like death out of time…
 
yesterday, I took a stroll through your illusional soul
and grasped oceanic reflections
of your motives interior…  your heart is choked, excitement extinguished
in those spontaneous affairs extramural that we have created
`not as one but as two`
have now become scavengers scavenging
in those lone hours of desperation that which make us human
to moan in another;
 
I`ve come to understand that in your ecosphere I was all
but one element conquered
that I was never loved
but unloved…
 
 
as all adulterers are