She argued with him irrationally
and it was because she was in love with him.
Their children, with nervous laughter, in sorrow,
took her side, because they knew he wasn’t in love with her.
Love is irrational, lost in the mazes of art. It does not go
from you to me in a straight line.
Do you remember how we gulped wine?
I had to pretend to like your poetry.
You, I guess, had a problem with rationality—
it told you again and again you weren’t supposed to love me.
I saw you arguing with it in your poetry.
You argued with me irrationally.
You told me, “the genius is always angry.”