Throes

Young guys
memorize
lines
so sublime.

With a hand full of roses,
and a head full of notions,
they stutter,
mesmerized,
as they utter
short doses
of prose
to another
they’re hopelessly
smote with.

Does the young
lover
bother
to think
if his actions smother?

Young girls twirl
as their worlds
blur.
Hand full of roses,
they curl
up inside,
as the guy
confides
his mind’s
throes
worth
to she
he
finds divine.

Should she feel fortunate
that their hearts are on the line?

I’d say only time
could know,
although
things seldom go
like the stories
of old.
Some
things blow
over like dominoes,
slow
to end,
but then
they tend
to break easier than
be put together again.