In the Trade

We call it being in love, in the trade.
The joy, the hand-holding, the delight
In talking, touching, kissing, fucking.
It's bliss to be in love, in the trade.

We call it utter misery, in the trade.
The despair, the lost hopes, the regret
That dreams of happiness were turned to naught,
Despite our love, despite it all, to naught.

We call it trying again, in the trade.
Sometimes it's worth just having another go.
A one in a million chance that might work out -
We know you never know, with the heart.

Louise Tee

If you've any comments on this poem, Louise Tee would be pleased to hear from you.