Disparate Love

Our Love is disparate.
Stricken from without
Sickened from within.
Threadbare and weakened
With embers of sorrow,
From each we borrow.
Twisting moments
Without ever effecting
Affections dieing.
Perjuring
Affectations,
Sowing eternally,
Growing rows
Of nothing.
Never again
Something, but
A question seeded.
Forever asking,
Forever wondering,
Forever why?