Rusty Love

Not the first time, maybe not even the second;
but it will call, it will come, it will beckon.
When it lands boldly into your bosom,
the heart is overcome.
Does one stay;
or does one run.
This aged, thrice love;
like wine is bitter and sweet.
However, like a rusty bike;
it needs to be tweaked.
Years of experience, neglect and torment;
to find one's soul empty and dormant.
Now confronted with love's embrace;
drowning from pain - you allow no space.
Back and forth, aged and broken lovers;
spirits crushed, - souls not recovered.
Need, want, and desire;
drowned out by the cries of a liar.
Past indiscretions and pain;
rivers of doubt flood the veins.
Filling the temple with infection;
killing the hope of founded perfection.
Rusty love is a violent dance;
between two destroyed souls,
fighting to give one another a chance.