It was not love that died

Had we known love before
then I would grieve now
for its loss.
Had there been openings
in doors shut,
in conversations,
then there would have been sadness.

Had we known love before
to share, without grieving
other loves,
we would have made it
passed the boundries
of mere acquaintances
and passed the treshold
of uneasy sex.

Though there is sadness
because there seems nothing here
in this rained over grave
but a hollow coffin.
And grief allows itself to barge in any time
anyway.

ps this poem was inspired by a poem I read a while ago but I don’t remember it altogether and I also forgot who wrote it lol. I just remembered bits and pieces.