The awkward familiarity of love
tugging at your bruised self
with delicate deference,
Ripe, tender, luscious love
pouring its spicy excitement
into the bland, spoiled dish
prepared with the recipe of the broken heart,
The fresh ingredients of new love
trying to undo its own raspy touch
clawed on the heart in its previous version;
trying to wipe the melancholy
carved on the heart;
trying to put light in the eyes
where its last version settled deep sorrows;
trying to put balm on the bleeding wounds
as the prongs of past go dredging
the memories of the old version.
When was the hardware (body) sensible?
Especially when love (software)
has this terrible sense for updation!
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