Roger,

Love was windows in rapture at 6 o' clock,

when the library closed for the day.
And ants meandering across the walls
found its way within.

Love was a conviction gone wrong

Stealing moments from a bullying conscience.

Love was liquor served too often

to be spilled. Too full a glass

smashed against the wall

to be stained forever

Love was standing strong on the foremost boulder

Against the waves

Defiantly, maybe