L. B. Mek

of Love #1


She’s, starting again

her tears, watering my toes

streaky makeup is dying my shirt

love’s bleeding colours

are staining my skin, seeping deep


‘I deserve, one more!’

She’s pleading for another chance

I agree completely, wordlessly

her fists are too tight, straining her nail extensions

acrylic bending – I reach, to glove her hands in mine.


Misunderstanding she - leaps, with her eyes

they meet mine, takes a second for her to realise

and she stares back at our hands, understanding

she pulls back, away - she’s, savaging her nail art

on purpose, ‘this, isn’t pain!’


‘Hollowed out and alone, sleeping on soaked pillows

is real pain’ she whispers, while grabbing

and shaking my shoulders, stroking my chin

with the back, of her blood smeared nails

her bare feet, climb on mine – so petite.


We’re, too close and if we fall - now

neither - can survive, so I relent and move sideways

till we’re balancing on the kitchen island

slowly - I lift her by her waist, seat her

on that smooth, cooling: marble countertop.  


Religiously, begin cleaning each ruined nail

blowing gently on her pain, she’s becoming listless

alcohol, finally gifting her mercy

I know her routine, survived it - a few times.

Unleashing a last heavy sigh, she headbutts my chest

again and again, trying: to jumpstart my heart…


Next scene, its early morning she’s on top

trying to reignite our damp embers, playing a little rough

pulling at hairs, scratching with dulled nails

biting lips - iron taste, of kisses drowning in crimson

blood, on surrender flag sheets

passion crimes of unyielding love’s, stubborn zeal.


Abruptly, she’s crying - wild

punching my chest, again

trying to break through, one more time

she daringly – tepidly, looks up: eye to eye

her squinting face - horrified, cos she doesn’t recognise


who I am, we’ve become strangers - overnight…


Been a year, and she’s walking past

doesn’t recognise me - completely, a lot has changed

I’m all tracksuits and manic beard

got my toolkit in one hand, an opened beer can in the other

I’m counting ten steps, one for each year we shared a ring


look back to watch twilight draping, her perfect silhouette…


Four years, since that fateful twilight scene

a startling knock at my door

I open, and just stare blankly - amazed

she’s got wrinkles and grey strands, I don’t recognise

she’s leaning back, wide-eyed at my shining scalp


slowly, she meets my eyes and her knees - collapse


I’ve wrapped her limp body in my arms

and follow her alarmed sister to their car

place her in the back seat, without a hair out of place

and walk back to the house, come out

with some ammonia and wine, to wake her and dull her


her sister takes over, and I melt back: into my survival shadows.


Decades - too late, and I’m at her funeral

arriving, hours

after everyone who matters – has left

dirt on her plot, still unsettled

headstone, just laying by her side - not yet placed


reads: beloved wife and cherished mother…


I let my fingers seek, melting into her grave

and whisper my final confession.

‘Know, that I never stopped loving you, it’s just

the image of you and him, snapped

something important deep - deep, inside

and it knocked out, all my lights.’

choking as tears - like waterfalls, serenade her grave.



Standing up, one shaking knee at a time

I look at my hand and notice

our ring, is missing

in its place, tattooed stain marks of her grave

I smile, knowingly

‘Ok dear, you keep it then

like my heart, it was yours: from the first…’


I shuffle away

making three movements, to take a step

and liking this sensation

of drying feelings on my cheeks, once again

seems like it has been a lifetime

since I felt anything this real, I muse.

My spirit, broken but serene - belatedly realise

if this, is what it costs

to love, with all we’ve got - then in a blink

I would suffer it all again, for you at least: my dear!


I merge back

into my shadowless state

 whistling, Bonnie Raitt:

‘….and, you can’t make

your heart feel, something it won’t

….in this final hour

I will lay down, my heart.’

Powerless, yet still - defiant

in the face, of ill-fate

grateful: till our very end…



© L. B. Mek

September 2021