On love

Love left my little shell again,
just to prove to me
than it can run faster than wind

And tonight I find myself
despising those couples
who french kiss in public
and wear their adoration for one another
like some sort of badge of honor
or a silly stamp of approval
that I know, eventually fades with time

One day they won't be so carelessly unaware
of the singletons passing by
or the broken hearts sitting on cold benches
scribbling messages on trees
and wishing on deserted pansies,
instead they'll be shouting obscenities
at those lovers who tongue dance for onlookers
or writing poetry about the inertia of wistfulness
and wondering if we'll ever realize
that even the sweetest love can tarnish with time,
if left unpolished by genuine hands