Perhaps we were in love with Love itself,
An impossible affair with something so fleeting,
An intangible emotion our flawed minds convoluted.
It couldn’t work.
We were stubborn,
Like guards who protect a kingdom,
Like the Berlin Wall.
When we reluctantly let Love in,
A thief disguised as a visitor,
She stole our hearts in the center of
Shattered wine glasses on the floor,
Nothing but the soft poured Merlot remained,
Staining the floor like the blood of wounded lovers,
A vestige of our hearts,
Destroying an innocent land.