Denouement

Romantic love is always inconveniently self announcing,
despite of its unwilling participants.
Wounded healers,
unavailable men in need of constant conmpanionship.
Women whose haunted havens are unsafe.

Love shit.

You can adore someone from a distance,
and with little action,
but loving somebody is an up-close job.

Love shit.

Though it’s counter intuitive,
when you hit a curve in love,
you should accelerate, not brake.
Double down.

There’s a special place in hell for men who convince women their intuition is insecurity to protect their duplicity.

Love shit.

Boss up on your emotions, before you become a slave to them.
So much I don’t wanna know about the shit you do,
but here it comes,
hoppin’ in my lap like baby powder scented stripper.
Sometimes there are no true sides, there is only “you were wrong.” 

Though counter intuitive, when driving, curves require acceleration.
Fear and braking, derail.
Same with love shit.

In the end, we all want love.
And like Pablo Neruda once said,
“I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight, hunting for you.”

Men truly have a hard time ending a thing.
That’s why God gave women shoes. 

- Dream Hampton
A Sucker For Pumps - TiRon & Ayomari