A Poem I wrote in the summer.

A loves end comes dirty and ashamed like a child fallen in mud.
Or sometimes, like a rabbit jumping into a burrow.
Other times it goes out like a fire in a raining morning.
Love leaves us and we leave it like a little brother on a Saturday night.
Love scares us like a car accident, inevitable, calm and shocking.
Love wanders out of our lives as the elderly wander aisle to aisle in a store.
Love warns us like a beacon lighthouse off the shore of rocky oblivion.
Love staggers us like a punch in the gut.
Love lifts us above its head and says "Who's my special boy?"
Love takes hostages and tortures them endlessly.
Love sweeps us into a dustpan.
It can begin in a shore break crashing the beach and then ebb away glimmering in the sand.
Scars as permanent as bullet holes it leaves behind.
Love embeds itself in our shattered marrow.
Love is empty like the cup that I drink from.
Love is a game where nobody wins and somebody loses.
Unbalanced love, the worst kind, tips the scales in pricey directions.
Love knows your faults and eats them for breakfast.
Love strings you out on a clothes line.
Love is warm like an old blanket.
Love is cold like and empty home.
Love is strenuous like an uphill climb.
Love is easy like a water slide.
Love is a place you love to go but seldom do.
Love is where you grew up.
Love is where you grow old.
Love is massive and twinkling.
Love is scrawny and weak.
Love is an embarrassment to the family.
Love is unacceptable and expected.
Love is somewhere in Antarctica.
Love is a crater on the moon.
Love, oh love, is sweet in the cupcake sort of way.
Love thinks cupcakes are disgusting.
Love is a cheater like that friend who always tries to look at your cards.
Love is the end of a French film, confusing and unsatisfying.
Love doesn't have subtitles.
Love and the wind cry Mary.
In the dark night in a jungle of love, oh how the kookaburras sing.