A Ghazal

Because we are not perfect

Do lovers love the love they should have loved
If they had had a second chance before?

A morsel from a late-night pizza slice
Is all that's left when she has shut the door.

When loveless, helpless, at the darkest hour,
The smallest torment swells to metaphor.

Inspired by longing, gorged on solitude,
The sated night grows much too cold to thaw.

Each trinket, ring, and pebble from the beach
Lies dark in an ex-lover's bottom drawer.

What's gone is lost; again a day too late;
Clown sees his teardrops glisten on the floor.