July 23, 2014

Fool’s Love.


Warning: f-bombs ahead .

Oh, the divorce years ago.

And then a series of hearts-a-flutter Fool’s Love, which is kind of like fool’s gold but worth more in the pan—and pain—of “valuable learning experiences.” The one thing in common: the flaw these faulty relationships had.

Those days.

Those days, a desperate dame searching for love in all the wrong faces. Fumbling about finding men in the same needy spaces not fully realizing—no clue at all—that frantic drive to find “the one” wasn’t exactly a sweet smelling parfum. Then again, the dudes were doused in the same brand.

There’s no one to blame.

Stumbling and bumbling and bumping into one another. Life. Slipping and tripping and falling in love—or into bed at least. And sex is good, good enough, so then sloughing off setting aside sprinting past mistaking warning bells for wedding jingles and tummy tingles and making up stories for make up sex and Geez I need to put on some make-up at least no wonder all this chit chat conversation discussion debate arguing fighting raging.

And pain. A fool’s love.

It’s you! All you! You you you!

Is it me?

And low sighs and high sex and shadows.

And eye-shadow and eyeliner.

As arm-candy flatter.

Because this is just fucking easier than admitting defeat.

So simply so not right for each other so not the one.

But making eye contact.

Alone in the mirror—I’m nobody’s fool. Ha!

But I’m a fool for Fools Love.

And fuck. And fuck this and no fucking way. And I’m done. And I mean it. Today.

Oh but the flutters and fantasies and fun.

The cuddling and the laughing and the story and “the one.”

And so much potential if only if only if—

Only this is bullshit.

And then one day a chance meeting with one.

A glance a longing a coming undone.

This one always here, forever near—

Waiting, watching this fool’s flailing and faltering and waning and wandering.

And breathe, breathe again, and get a grip, lady!

See me now? Here I am. Still.

Be still. Breathe. It’s okay. I’m here to stay.

I love this Love Fool, fool’s love, this lover and fooler and you don’t fool me—

Silly goose. In my reflection now I see.


Years have passed all the silliness and sullenness and sadness.

Who was that then?

Someone unrecognizable so wholly devisable despise-able disposable.

A fool I embraced and escaped and appreciate.


Oh, a Fool’s Love so recently found.

Only a brave prospector will find it worth the stake to hold. And I did. For in the end, I now know I’m worth more than fools gold. No territory for the timid, fearful or ashamed. The one thing in common. The perfection this tender relationship has.

And I am gladly to blame.


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Editor: Catherine Monkman

Image: Clickflash Photos/Flickr

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