Broke

This poet just cried in a dark hotel room for twenty minutes.

And as tears dried on his face he reached an earthshattering conclusion;
Life is the best mistake,
One only fools and Gods can make.

A year of good fun and affection,
Followed by a year
of love and ardent reflection
on the nature of that love,
Is not devalued in the long years
That come by the score
That shake this poet to his core
with a black grief.

That the loss of that entity that made your heart soft again
Does not change that your heart was softened.

And even as your heart
 may recast itself in ice
It has a quiet unquenchable ember that reminds you of their touch.

And if a Nymph leaves the Iron God to rust,
To find what their roots may mean
They can always return to his trust,
They can always intervene,
And thaw the heart once more.

If I lose you mon chaton,
I hope its not forever.