Love Does Not Retreat

Love does not retreat.
It continues on.
Bloodied and bruised.
Maimed and hobbling.
Love does not retreat.
It dies before it stops.
Love does not retreat.
Love marches forward.
Straight into
your darkest moments.
Love takes shelter
in your pain.
In the house of your agony,
Love sets a table
for one
and drinks a cup of coffee,
waiting,
and polishing its pistol.
You should knock on the door
of your insecurities,
walk into that dining room,
sit with Love,
pour yourself a coffee,
and play that game of Russian Roulette.
Just remember
there are four chambers
in a heart
and Love keeps all four
loaded.
You are going to lose,
but the greater loss
is not sitting at that table,
not having that cup of coffee,
and not sharing moments
before you hear that bullet shell
drop from your heart
and rattle on the floor
of your soul,
still hot,
burning,
like your last sin,
sparking
your house of agony
into flames,
turning it into
a raging red fire,
a layer of ashes landing on
the concrete of your blood.
Love walks away
in the sprawling sidewalks
inside your blood vessels.
That winning bullet
echoes
through the back alleys of your desires
where no crime can be seen.
Love never gets caught.
Love is a way of living
and a way of dying.
Love does not retreat.