In my youth,
I cursed love for her sadistic cruelty,
Yet I often feared where I would be without her softness.
I reject her advances,
Controlling the internal need and willing her to be pitied.
My impatience grew with every disappointment,
My mouth dry with disillusionment.
Now, my cursed be love,
Julia Manuel on Poem #4 ingridfalconi on Poem #4 Julia Manuel on Poem #4