A Mysterious Thing
Love
Is
a mysterious thing,
Just when you think
You have your finger
On it,
You’re back to square one,
He watched her through
Three or four affairs,
It seemed the theme
Was always the same,
But it wasn’t,
Love
Screws you from a
Different side every time,
Some would say
Was it really love,
Or the erotic thrill
Of a strange place
A strange man
And no commitments,
But who’s to say,
For what is excitement
And love for one
Is fear and hate for another,
One thing mystified him,
As happens now and then
With observers,
Strange as it might seem,
He had fallen a touch in
Love,
With this silly girl,
This gorgeous woman.
Stephen Nesbitt ©
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Photo © Adolfo Valente