I was asked by a man who laughed all day
about love, to which he was a stranger.
Or so he claimed. I said “If that’s so, pray
tell me how you laugh like one in danger
of realising that that ring of rejection
could leave you in a limbo of grimace
and grin, in a stupor of reflection
on their whims, remarks and wonderful grace;
a state where, to you, there is no meaning
in most things you do when they’re not there too,
like working, watching, writing and reading;
each thought has to be recorded for you
to give them next time you meet in a mixture
of breathlessness, wide-eyed love-lust and vigour.”