poetry

Rom[antic] l{over}[s]

Let us disabuse ourselves scientific-

ally of all not-

ions of madly romantic love:

they involve being

swept along a tidal way of need,

and I do not want you to need me

for that is no freedom.

Such need imposes its will;

it ain’t you who’s doing the choosing.

 

Far better a love where the partners do

want each other: where that tidal

wave still exists but is hidden from

view and does not drive the choice;

where the liberty of choice

tells me you truly do value me in all that

I am: not because you see me madly

but precisely because you see me well.

 

I am at one with my past, just about

sorted: that past slowly is becoming that

other passed, and so I can now become able

to move onto another plane of my life

where sheets uncrumpled may one day be

no so, as lives do turn full circle.

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