I gave up on love long ago.
When the idea was fresh, innocent
sweet and sugary pop,
I wallowed in its promise
of clear skies and sunshiny days.
As time passed and it mellowed
in to a sweet honey savored
with a cup of hot tea,
still did I believe,
in its promise of rainy days and warm sheets.
Then it turned into a darker brew,
a lager steeped in hallowed oak
that promised nights of pleasure and satisfaction
with contented mornings and languid days.
It is only when it turned sour,
wine aged too long,
cider spoiled by moldy apples
that its promise revealed the lie hidden
deep within its painful shackles.
I gave up on love long ago,
when its promise died in the froth
of the falsehoods we matured in.
© Johanna Kaye Fugitt 2017