Cadena de Amor: a flowering vine

A faint pink
of comfort,
in the corner
of your eye.
Plain, forget-able.
But there
is where
it always
begins--
it entices the senses,
embeds itself
in your conscious
mind...
It grows,
it grows,
and it grows,
the vines that crawl
slowly,
menacingly.
And
the once
minuscule buds
bloom into washed-out
ink on tear-stained letters
(they never go away) until it
engulfs you, binds you, strangles you into



nothingness.