Death of Love

when does love stop being love? not growing,
it turns with creaks and moans of regret
into something unwanted, unknown,
something shut up and away into itself…
something incapable of ever sharing again
the space of innocent love that once bound
two individuals as one, but now binds them
in barren spaces of hollow memories.
if only you could have still loved me today,
even two hours ago…now you bring it too late.
when does love pass the point of no repair?
at what vaporous, airless moment does it cease
to exist? when does it move beyond the shadows
of hope, beyond the time to live again
in eager hearts once warmed by its passion?
even two hours ago, but now, never again!