Love

Her love is like the child

That was never born,

Gone before first breath,

Dead before the words

Could dare leave her lips,

Torn apart in the chaos,

The carnage of her heart.

Her love is like the flower

Nipped before first bloom,

Lost before the petals

Would dare break free

And show the world

Their boldness and beauty,

Their fire of color.

Her love is like the fortress,

Guarded by stone and steel,

With weapons imposing their might

And soldiers ready to attack,

Forbidding anyone from entry

And any emotions from escaping.

Her love was invincible.

Yet the kiss of his arrival

Shattered the stone of her spirit,

Seared her heart in the flashes of flames,

Consumed the recesses of her existence,

Tortured her worse than the Spanish had dreamed,

And slaughtered the last of her defenders,

Leaving her in the wake of catastrophe.

It was this kiss,

This tender touch of lip to lip,

The smell of soap and taste of mint,

The slight embrace of hands and waist,

That destroyed her heart,

Cut down her guard,

And saved her soul.