If love becomes a game,

if the touch you once craved

runs dry like a river that no longer flows,

then I will not reach for you.

Love needs no disguise, no definition forced.

It’s pure, like the tall, slender woman

with smooth chocolate skin

who captured your eyes,

your thoughts, your comparisons.

Let her hands trace your soul,

for if she is what consumes you,

then let her be your love.

Because real love never fails.

It does not hide,

it does not turn bitter in the dark.

If my touch no longer possesses you,

if I am but a shadow against your

secret chocolate flame,

then go —

for that is love.

But if the very thought of me,

the nearness of me,

the simple act of being in the same room

that is not love.

sparks only rejection and silence,

That is hate,

and hate is no game.

So I won’t touch you.

I won’t beg for space in your arms.

There is somebody for everybody,

and you—

you were never meant for me.