I don’t know heartbreak because I don’t know love;

The flutter of anxious wings engulfing the chest,
Fire turned ache by the maliciously proud dove
Stranding me in woven memories of the nest.

If only I knew what the flame meant to you
I’d have, at once, dashed water over the kindling,
Snuffing the counterfeit oaths you uttered anew
Each day with crosséd fingers playing me.

Alas, the night gives no good-sense dew,
For every morning a dose of reality swamps;
Night bids flickers of diurnal truths adieu
The angry march of drunken certains onward tramp.

It matters not the whims of love for never
Has it grazed my heart–even when you left me–