it is odd

it is odd:

one goes

from loving someone

so deeply

that the connection

shames

cupid’s efforts,

and ignites fires

so fierce they

riddle burns across

soft skin, etched with

covert notes of affection

stained not just the body,

but the mind…

to feeling

an emptiness

so cavernous

one might assume they

are lost in Tartarus -

punished for the hurt

they caused their lover;

a touch so foreign that it almost

feels repulsive

and riddles one with guilt,

wanting so badly to give into

a desire that has left

months ago.

it is odd.

a.e.w.