The Lovegroves.

knife. drops.
love and hate
fade to black.
stripped back to the start
ripped apart
again.
this time,
off by heart.
remember this pretty offence
impaled on a world of white
picket menace.
it’s your darkside moon
the mother to your wounds
lover to your severed soul.

you’ll be our clowning glory.

together.
broken fascination.
forever.
shading under the pretence
of a romantic commodity.
i feel.
infected. connected
charmed, i’m sure.
‘what was that, my dear?
hold still. come near…’
never endings.
from here
the beginning of our mending.

Just testing the video function, I think I’m in love.