Have you ever watched a love story blossom?

Have you ever watched a love story die?

I've seen both.

Across Brooklyn streets and Manhattan subways and

little neighborhoods between Accra and Poughkeepsie;

from insipid coffeeshops to Hell's Kitchen last calls

before garish lights melt away gin-goggled illusions,

I've seen them fall together and then fall apart.

I've seen the cautious creep of strangers touching,

the unsure flirtations turned insatiable,

gasping kisses, and embraces that cling to eternity—

famished, hoping the lust will outlast love.

And then, I've seen the loud hurt,

heavy with rancor and resentment;

terrible things said with unforgiving fury

and the regret that blooms in the scorching.

I've watched it unfurl in terrible splendor,

a crime scene that we have all seen

where love lives and lasts for ever

and sometimes for only a scene.