I no longer love the one I did for three long years.
Besides, she's disappeared again. I love the one
I loved before her, having spent some time with her
In Paris just a month ago, but we don't get together
Often, and we're rarely by ourselves. Paris was
The first time I had seen her in some sixteen months,
And it's unlikely we will get to be together very soon...
So why wish for someone who can't be near?
Why spend two years lamenting that last love?
It's as if longing's simply something that
I always have to do, its object almost arbitrary.
When I force myself into lucidity, I understand
That my life's virtually complete. I have no needs
Which are not met. I haven't even many wants.
I have just one, in fact, and even I'm aware
That it's absurd: a dream which cannot be fulfilled
And shouldn't be, and, anyway, would be replaced,
Should I attain it, by another dream which was,
In all respects, the same.

Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2017-11-06 at 18:42

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Ashe The PoetBay support member heart!
You are a man in love with being in love. It's an addictive feeling. Good poem. A real live Don Juan? A dreamer who cannot be fulfilled. Good poem and good introspection, which all makes for a good poet.

Sounds like you're a serial offender. Great title, fits the subject perfectly.