The choices we fall into for romance
must be why they call the moon-touched lunatics.
We let all sense escape us, give in to chance,
seduced junkies’ eager hunger for a fix.
A bedfellow strange to reason’s well-trod path,
belief in ever after lovers’ twain.
Well-schooled, trained in logic, adept in math,
yet we shed it all to hop that mythic train.
Expose our tender souls to cruel deceit,
and maybe violence, maybe wounds that slowly kill.
Yet we run into destruction, foreswear retreat,
for the chance, the hope, the ecstasy, the thrill.