Discourse On Love

“…It is, for when the spontaneity
has been removed by either man or woman,
the other shall receive this sudden backstep
into temperate loving as the dawn
of disinterest. In such cases it
inspires defence—especially in youth,
where many have been predisposed by age
to live for the vividity of living.
And thus to tempt their lots. To meddle with
the wellness of the soul—for nothing else
beyond the boastful fact they still have such
amounts of life remaining in them that,
every mistake will scab. But…
I know not. I discover that I fail
myself to decide. Being in a time
where my response is crucial—I know not.
One philosophy of these two proposed
is wiser for its pertinence in this
chronology of life my own—the other
for its truth—that, the righter verity.
We are designed to act from logic but,
to do as much appears as youth’s castration.
A deed which promises a wordless dotage.
Bare of fables, delights, despairs and thrills:
too secure to have a thing at all to say.”

And then, the man elucidated, saying
that this intoxicating feeling is
comparable to something as an ocean.
A sea from which to draw one thing at all
ensures that it is wholly soused in it.
Purely briny. More than any could have wished.
But that it is indeed a thing to ride
the ripples of your fervour and to act
within it for your wit’s survival. Yes,
it is a thing—a thing so possible.
Though quickly wearisome, unbeautiful,
and bland–so terribly, terribly bland.
But—possible, to act within the sea
without withdrawing any thought therefrom.
To love with rationality. A balance.
Possible and correct indeed, but so
sagacious to a feeling ever-young,
that we will evermore choose elsewise.
He told me—squinting in his spectacles
as if to re-adjust his gaze still blurred
behind the mist of all his years. A thing
at which I fretted for—a single day
before I bought a pair just like those!”