Such a mad paroxysm of love for strangers

Is not normal, they say.

But staring out of the cocoon in which I live,

As each day rushes towards a violet death

And the world ages before my eyes,

I have had innumerable first loves.

Men lean against graphiti-ridden walls,

Shadows on their faces and black hole eyes.

Them, I have loved more than any lover of mine…

My lovers with their keen maleness

And professions of love.

Colourful women,I see, flying with wings

And as they catch my eye,

Start for a tiny moment,

And smile beautifully before they soar off,

Love sits in a lump in my throat.

Twilight thickens around me like a sweater.

Swathed in its warm security,

In such rare, fleeting moments

I dare to love.