I don’t know how to write love poems (anymore)

I wanted new love to become my muse
The way she became part of my healing

Balm
Warm
Safer than I knew before

But my last muse took something quintessential

Her duality was tricky
Simply cure for her own poison

She gave me back my words
By reaching down my throat
Intubating me to breathe poetry again

But the barbs embedded in the process
Ripped through heart muscle when she snatched her arm back
Scratching me raw as she withdrew her love
Maiming my tongue leaving bloody streaks

Yes
I can still breathe

But how can I ever speak poetry in love again
The wounds still twinge