Last night

Last night my friend and I

died a little death, I thought

it would be glorious, it was not;

strange to feel sadness sharp,

like a dagger, I thought its pain

akin to blunt trauma;

there were no wrongs to right, nor

law to judge, and though a little death,

its wound was still fatal;

for without strike, stab or blow,

it managed to kill love itself.*

*the ability to love