Oh well, my first response to this
is to roll my eyes and say, so what? Get over it. But, no, people have these
desires for each other, don’t they? I know that, and old flames don’t die out just
because we or he or she move on, and remember, the poet is giving immortal form
and substance to those instants of emotion that normally flash like dragonflies
through our pathetic heated hearts despite whatever taboo or convention they
transgress. So, okay. I guess.
Of course, this kind of thing
looms more devastating once you’ve declared yourself a schmuck. But it’s all artifice,
isn’t it? But if you live the artifice,
it’s not artificial any longer. Have at it.
She was ever so close to his pain
once, they were delicately in passionate love, oh my God, she’s strong and
beautiful and so tragically married, he loves her still, hey, there’s a squirrel out on the lawn!
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