When I think of Cupid

I see a corpse in the trunk

of a  low ridding Cadilac.

I see precious moments cartoons,

and other clishes

that seem as artificial as a laugh

in a buisiness meeting.

When I think of Cupid-

I picture a circiling pack of black dogs,

pacing inbetween themselves,

waiting for the fight to break out.

I think of the light in one raindrop

your own star on your window

thinking/ twinkling,

Until morning

When you wake up. Dry and starless.

I cant write for you.

I cant wait for them.

You are all I had love,

But you had all of… them.

The opposite of lite

is heavy.

The opposite of you

Is depressed and unsteady.

Like a surfer in a huricane

you smile till you choke.

I captured you with words,

and then my voicebox broke.

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