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My kisses did not wound her. My poems didn't even make her sad. Do you remember the innocence of nineteen sixty five? The love I poured on her was not harmful at all, it turned out. They found my lover alive. I could make billions with a placebo vaccine for a secret virus affecting the already sick. Millions would be vaccinated---because thousands would refuse. Human nature would play into my hands. Love rewarded me similarly. It wasn't just my poetry. We do something because others don't want us to do it. At the time we don't know we are doing it for that reason. Her friends talked to her about the poetry. Objectivity finally prevailed. We loved because it wasn't right--- but we didn't need to know this. Do we need insights? No. We need love, and what if it's fake? As long as we swoon. As long as we ache.
