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He reaches for the feeling that speaks his english
lost in the understanding of love he plays in its creases
Red marks across a wall
To express his
"This is what you mean to me" collective
His mother screams
"What do you mean", over the phone
Even love has collections
And a box with a slit filled with suggestions

But he still doesn't know what it means
and judging by the tears running down her face
neither does she
A woman, coming towards her late thirties
Is finding love near another woman's nursery
Unaware of what she knows now
she helps a married man desecrate his vows
All in the search of love and longing
But is it worth such wronging

Her son cries with her, interrupting his scribbles
Afraid of his mothers emotional riddles
Someone has hurt my mother
Never had he seen tears so fierce dampen the creases of his fears
Her face reddens more every second

Within moments her face is wet and flushed
The toilet of shit that we call love
Her heart is crushed
She hangs up the phone hysterical
Then prays to God "Why" for the 10th time
A numerical new miracle
He runs to his mother
And comes to his mother
His instincts take over
And the child offers the adult his shoulder
Don't cry my mother
Don't cry my mother
She's hurt and he sees it
He kisses her and points to an unfinished secret
She sees  "I love you"
On the wall
And "Happy Balentines day"
then leaves it
For at this moment, she needs it
Tears continue to scroll down the sons back
as she rereads it
This woman's heart is yet undone
But the mother is held together by her son



Unless otherwise noted, All content © Theophilus The Great, 2014