Love Poems

The spent words still stinging
between us coldly settle,
preventless as the evening
dew: whey on grey metal.

The moon is milk mirrored
in ice of her own making
so soon to be shivered
my heart sheers near breaking.

Why, why balk we tongueless
and let distance thicken?
Love dies, dies defenseless,
proud-booted, mute stricken.