Five Habits of the Lovelorn

This day I met you, lovelorn,
Blood dripped down your leg
Your eye was dim with life, love
Your back with broken wings.
I told you I'd forgotten
You said you never would
And all the sun is rotten
Of all the things we did.
Sweet summers, sweeter dying,
Tears struck with streams of black;
The wintertime is crying
With flowers that it lacks.
If we could catch the rainbows
We might recall the sun;
But we are but the puddles
When all the light is gone.