We are all liars, because
The truth of yesterday
becomes a lie tomorrow,
Whereas letters are fixed,
and we live by the letter of truth.
The love I feel for my friend, this year,
is different from the love I felt last year.
If it were not so, it would be a lie.
Yet we reiterate love! love! love!
as if it were a coin with fixed value
instead of a flower that dies, and opens a different bud.
All I ask of a woman is that she should feel gently towards me.
when my heart feels kindly towards her,
and there should be the soft, soft tremor as of unheard bells
It is all I ask.
I am so tired of violent women lashing out and insisting on being loved, when there is no love in them.