Free love

At first it seemed every day was my lover,
every morning a new seduction,
nights filled with satin arms and
sleek velvet legs,
curtains billowing with
a breeze soft and hung with fragrance.

A world filled with breasts
soft like peaches,
every size,
every shape,
for the dimensions of love knew
no bounds.

But names of phantom lovers are soon forgotten
and faces recede into the mist,
not even photographs record the passing of
another love,
another laugh,
voices faint and hollow,
thin like a golden thread leading no-where,
where emptiness grows like cancer,
another ideal perverted,
twisted like a termite infested trunk,
transmuted into an ephemeral thrill
of cheap sex,
the barren landscape
which love forgot.