Once upon a time a broken man fell in love with the beautiful breasts of a broken woman. Together they bore children in their brokenness.
Beautiful breasts sagged and the love that they brought sagged with it, peeling like slowly melting wax, till all that remained was their brokenness. Turmoil reigned like swarming bees, as the broken pieces of their souls lashed at each other, seeking to inflict more harm than the other, cutting deeper each time, infecting, paralysing.
Redemption came knocking, holding the freedom papers of divorce and the promise of a future that shimmered with possibility and happiness, and the papers were quickly signed.
The heaviness of regret set in before the ink was dry, their forlorn, furtive glances pretending to be passionate love lost. The years of their separation tangled together in criss crossed flights as they strove to avoid each other, spreading the seeds of hate, tending carefully to them as they sprouted in their children and grandchildren. They grew strong into vast canopies that engulfed generations, while the fruits, like splinters of glass, rained down on their lives, destroying them utterly.
And yet they found themselves yearning and straining towards each other, reaching out with wizened arms boasting ropy scars, the brokenness in them so unique, so perfect no other could fit. He wrapped his wrinkles around those sagging breasts, her tongue caressed the drooping hairy earlobes, passionate love-making. Broken love-making. Broken love.