No matter whether we like it or not.
Two and a half years now with the same woman
I wonder if love can be ever enough.
Four or five people in configuration,
Although we don't see one another that often,
Performing small civilized acts of frustration
That sex and hearts and alcohol soften.
Four or five people don't all like each other,
Even sometimes the ones most closely linked.
Nevertheless we can all, if we bother,
Secrete enough unction to get us through drinks.
Four or five people join hands in the sea,
Talking of wishes and seasons and weather,
Waving their white legs down at me
Whose night is where they swim together.
Four or five people out caught in the rain,
Dispersing in spirit like devils in pigs.
Perhaps two or three really do admire pain.
The rest of us cheer ourselves up eating figs.
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