Love, like anything else,
can be funny. A tall,
handsome, guy; just picture it:
nice hands, perfectly normal,
and she was a complete weirdo—
there she is, walking really slow,
thin, angular, moody, self-absorbed,
contemplative to an extreme degree,
an odd-shaped head,
not interested in politics or poetry—
unlike the good-looking dude,
you cannot picture her. She wouldn’t believe
he loved her; but he did—for years after she went away.
Most would agree there was something comical about the match,
but he cried over her, in front of me, today.