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They used to paint love

Rapturously on upturned faces

They used to write its praises

In sonnets of gold and gossamer.

They sung its story on harps

Sweet as angels supposed voices.

They even carved its gentle curves

In clay, and stone, and marble.

But they forgot the roses' thorns

And that Lucifer had beauty.

They didn't show the pain

That braids itself with pleasure

They didn't show the vicious side,

The jealousy, the tears.

They didn't show how love dies

Muffled, struggling

Like butterflies with torn wings

Or the pain it takes-

To carve love's curves

Romanticized, fantasized

Their works have blinded little girls

Searching for a fairyland.

Yet, beauty is only beautiful

In comparison with hideous.

Those artists of old

Should have seen-

Should have known

That love has claws when angry

Love has teeth to bite

As well as lips to kiss

And hands to touch.