The French Revolution of love.

On crossing your bridge
I crossed your heart
never to let it die.

But deceptively hollow
guillotined thoughts
roll with the tides red.

My solemnly heart
marches on
playing the drums
while behind
my love weeps
for you instead.

During the clash of words
naked lips once painted red
kissed along the firing line.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

terrific metaphor carried through the whole piece...love the ending...even when love hurts like a war wound...there are still kisses, still signs of peace that can be if the lovers reach an accord.
j.

[andrew mitchell]

Thank you Jacob for your kind words.