Terminal as Love

It was the time, when the rhododendron in
my garden was small - now it is a big tree
knocks on the kitchen window- when wind
blows, that I loved her. Jubilant times, my
prime, I could fly yet crashed, I realized she
didn’t love me alone but had another lover,
her whispered words of affection became
obscene clichés. Fatally offended, love died
as fall leaves blew on an empty asphalt road.
Time healed nothing only drew a curtain of
distance between us and left me with a heart
weakened by melancholy. Her arrow of love
made me a cynical; I shall never love anyone
as much as I loved her, again.