Pig's Skin

Our love is just a football,
insignificant and small.
‘Member it’s only a game,
played quite briefly in fall.

An object not known by grace,
a pig’s skin still held by lace.
Filled with air, you the same.
Memories, I must erase.

But we are against each other,
although I call you lover.
One must lose, a heart to maim,
yet I hope our hearts recover.