None (rules is rules)

by Christos Polydorou

There are no
rules to this love;
One needn’t wear red
nor regret all the things
one said to others, dis-
paraging things, to your
sisters and brothers,
who weren’t what
you expected, prince
charming, a housewife,
a man to cook for, a woman
to give birth to your children.
This is another
kind of love;
a love that leaves no ache
but a soft, gently turning yearning
turning itself to the sun, pulling
you with it. You wanted, you needed,
you tried to get it, but up until
the point you reached out
your arms, it did not click
that all that was left
was your tender participation.

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