As a child, I learned a terrible rule:
Some words are excised just for being trite
Cliche's are lies; and there is no safe pool.
Words like "beautiful" were condemned as slight.
So, I did not believe in "passion," ever.
Hearts cannot be "broken," flesh does not "flame."
Peel that heaven from my skin and sever
The apricot kisses by which I came,
For that sheer Carpathian descent you place
Blame to me, but mark this, we fell not out
But in--to an essential state of grace,
Pain spools out like desert skeins of barb-wire;
And leaves the world a colder, darker place.
Now, I'm still missing word or token,
Beautiful, burned, and yes, heart-broken.