Mister Love Poem by Zyw Zywa

I used to play with dolls
imitating the affairs of the aunts
I knew their trump cards

of yearning jealousy
and revenge on the devils
who make you heavenly happy
before they leave

Now I listen to heartbreak songs
without an answer, songs I know
and could sing along, but
inside, they eat me

instead of giving me hold
how to proceed now it's over
although I was sure of him
and of myself

Oh, may Plato and Socrates be right
that Mister Love is a hunter, lean
unwashed and barefoot, but skilled
in mixing poison?

Do I deserve this while he is exculpated
because good luck does accrue to him
but it always escapes him?