Feast of Love

Dear Love, At first you are like a box of chocolates, A mystery of what’s inside. Then you are like a sweet summer berry. Sometimes you stay a sweet berry, but sometimes you turn into a lemon curd. Tart, but still nice. Yet time and you have a special melody. You turn more bitter like fresh cocoa powder. Until there is no more left, and you are like turkey leftovers. Cold, tasteless, and gray. That my dear love is why I wrote you this letter. To say goodbye to this round, maybe next time we met we can be like milk and honey.