The Choice

As real as you, as real

your calm certainties,

the cities streets,

and garden squares,

the naked wraiths of indecision

are have gathered now to

test and mock and overrun

my heart's ambition.

You say “We must decide to be happy

and take it from here." My

bottom was wet through

on a shower-soaked

bench in Cavendish Square.

Love wasn't easily found,

for you or for me, this time or

any other, nor won

in a game of chance,

or granted by providence

as a reward for being

better than we were once.

We must take all that we can,

when we can; and

nothing is fair, and nothing

is free. My heart will pay you,

your heart will pay me.

At our time of life we have

earned the right to choose;

nor need age choose wisely

or well, each lover to lover,

for ourselves, and our other.

True! I am no longer bound

by the mad conviction

that I shall carry my gutter

into your bed, and soil your

linens with our lovemaking,

that I cannot deserve you,

or ever be happy with you.

I am myself only: an

incomplete uncertain woman,

both old and new,

gifted with unfettered joy

and borrowed blues

Lesley Storm, © October 2016