A true romance,
Blossoming in the summer,
Braving the winter,
Flourishing in the spring,
A picture of passion,
A fine target,
The shotgun is cocked.
A touch of ire,
A whisper of infidelity,
A glimmer of adultery,
All are pulls of the trigger,
A pair of hearts are the targets,
Lined up to be executed,
A true romance no more.
A quarrel,
A kiss,
A flash,
Then silence,
The burst ribcage of love,
And heart-shaped gore,
Are all that remain.
Reblogged this on WorldofHarley and commented:
Shotgun Romance
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