Where do I hide, from the injustice of Love
When fools, dare, to tango,
With temptresses, of the night,
And roguishly, good-looking, boys
That ensnare their victims. . .
And left, to be torched,
Our beautiful emotions, spent,
And what have we, learned
Whence, we have yearned,
So blindly, so foolishly,
So repetitively, and each
Time-trodden bruise, covered up
As mere reflections we are,
Of our former selves,
Each crippling, fantastic experience,
At the once whole image
Of the innocent, regretless
Beginning. . .
Why would we hide, from the injustice of Love,
When every bone, in our bodies,
Longs, for the joy,
That Love brings. . .