It started with a touch - Nothing and everything special, A gentle hand on the arm As a sort of comforting reassurance In a friendly-stranger-sort-of-way. A way of saying everything is fine - I'm talking to you because I want to Not because I feel obliged to. It was that simple gesture That made me fall in love with you. And there, senoras y senores, Is your answer. I fall in love too easily. Poets fall in love too easily, And each for different reasons - All with a psychological deficiency, Or maybe psychological necessity. Mine, it becomes clear to me now, Is the desperate desire to be held In any meaningful way For as long as possible. And that acknowledgement Brings forth logic and reason: I know very few things about her And always will. She is a passing poet's love... Just red hair and a sense of humour Caught in a fortnight's daydream.