even if we already know it leads to trouble,
that its price exacts a despondent toll that is double,
once the losing has begun?
why does the sun bemuse by shining brighter
each time love reborn inspires and shines anew,
blinding us to love’s dark hue and recent past?
why, alas, do we fall, answering a fool’s call
to pitch, tip and turn; jump, holler, and squeal;
feel as if all this amorous make-believe
was truly, madly, foolishly, meant-to-be?
why do we
continue to love,
why do we?
the list
l.m