AMOUR BRISÉ

If
He had left
The angry words,
Unbirthed,
In the womb of his thoughts...

If
She had heard
The words
With her ears
But listened with her heart...

If
His shaking hands
Had pulled her back

As she walked away

Teary-eyed...

If
She had turned
And saw the hurt
In his moistened eyes

Pleading wordlessly...

...Would
Her heart now be
The wilted rose in the noonday sun
And his soul,
The homeless Ghoul, in a formless land?