Love is a Story

It seems incredible now but once I was in love,
inflamed blood rushed thru my veins threatened
to drown my heart in sweet delusions, but we
both agreed, at the time, that never in the history
of man had anyone loved as us.

Summer nights are not for sleeping tired I was
when October came with cold, sober precipitation
and a north westerly that reduced the rapid river
of ardour to a mere trickle of lust and my words of
love rang hammy and theatrical.

Tears, a tub full I’m quite certain had I had sense
to bath in them I would have been assured eternal
youth. I kicked myself, fled. A fine November dawn
I saw Recife; fell in love again, but this time, alas,
with an irony damaged heart.