I abhor love

a timely poem for the month of february

i have an abhorrence of love.
why must i subject myself to things,
and souls which are ephemeral?
i detest the temporary
and the expiry date engraved
on those i love.

falling in love is precisely felt,
and exactly how it sounds.
i know this to be true.
that which i love causes me to fall.
my head hits the ground—an earsplitting thud: 
abstraction, logic, and her allies
sop with blood on the dirtied concrete floor. 

joy is in the intimacy that exudes loudly
from out of those i tickle;
until the things and those I love leave.
the fall is incomprehensible to the mind.
it is physical—and late.
the death of love is wilted fingers,
the last time. too early.
and the unspoken “i miss you’s,”
and in the untold commiseration.