Love is love

Love is love,
until love,
is necrotic;

An ugly wound,
the grim reaper,
lays beside,
and repairs,
with foolproof stitches.

Love is love,
until love,
is decay;

Where a baby doe,
the purest of life’s forms,
could sense the compulsions of the devil,
the rotted smell of flesh,
and unbound mortality,
and run.

Love is love,
until the grim reaper,
slips the fitted noose,
upon your neck,
snuggly,

and love becomes,
death.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

Hello dear lovelymarina. Love can be hell-bound or sweet. Sometimes either one is okay. I liked your flow of your thoughts. With death. Love isn't needed no-more. Thank you for sharing the excellent poetry.
Coyote

[lovelymarina]

Love your words always. Love isn't always sweet. Thank you...

Marina

[Coyote Poetry]

I enjoyed the poem dear Marina and you are welcome.

[AJNJ]

For me, love has always smelt rotten (mostly) very poetically done.

[lovelymarina]

I could definitely agree. Thank you so much.

Marina

[willweb]

Love can be so many things but I have never before pictured it as death...though I do now. Nicely done.

[lovelymarina]

Lucky for you, then! Haha, thank you so much,

Marina

[jacob erin-cilberto]

have to be careful of those "foolproof stitches'---they tend to make us the fools for believing in them.
there is a fine line between love and death and there is both the love of death...as Plath, Sexton and others proved....and the death of love which I have chosen to prove more than a couple times.
Sensing the compulsions of the devil...the baby doe...even in its innocence can sense.
Damn, this poem is so good...
Makes me want to memorize it on the spot.
j.

[lovelymarina]

Love & death tend to go hand in hand. In my experiences at least. Baby doe's have instincts, as we all do, the choice is ignoring them or not.

Thank you so much for your lovely words as always J...means the world.

Marina