My Second-Hand Love Poem by Mark. A Heathcote

We fan the flames of the fire whose reach is higher.
With vile words for fuel, hear them transpire.
Skewer each other, flame-licked like gutted fish,
Bulging eyes are the other's dish.

It's been a long time since either kissed the other.
With a baited hook that says you will not leave,
Leave me. You will not leave for another.
Instead, words and thoughts can only be misconceived.

Flames, submerge us both in our burning oils.
One hand is a token, and the other recoils.
What's changed? Why are we on opposite shores?
Once what was mine was without question yours.

How like an angler fish, you want to dine
Strip me bare like a tree in wintertime.
Chew me up and spit me out—quite grotesque.
How you treated me has now turned me statuesque.

Vulture talons are drawn to lacerate.
How is it our love turns to bitter hate?
I cannot fathom, dear, to understand
How can its value drop to second-hand love?

Like coffee grains steamed and drained
Washed bitter and cold, only good for the garden
To support the weeds to grow
Oh, for pity's sake, I want to go now, drown in the lake.

Oh, oh, darling, just let me go.
For pity's sake, I want to go now, drown in the lake.