Cupid’s
Way
We’re all
subject to the turns of entanglement
The cards
come down and there’s no forecast
Guess as
you might but you can’t be right
What’s
this trickster that has us all beat?
It’s the
reality of potential, a metaphysical quizzical
But it’s
bashful as hell, so hides itself as soon as the light’s lit
Do you
recognize the affect when you’ve seen a subject?
You lose
all reason because it’s the love season
Why do we
“fall” for whomever?
Amusingly
it’s called a “spring fever”
It’s a
conundrum without solution
It can
end in a smitten resolution
But
alternatives lurk for love is like roulette
It can be
celebration or desolation as you don’t know what you get
But risk
away anyway, more is better than one
And
perhaps one day they’ll come to stay
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