We don’t fall in love: it rises through us
the way that certain music does

just when we least
needed or expected it
a part of us dips into it
by chance or mishap or fate and it seeps
through our skin
clings to her curls

wraps itself around our wrists

holds me tight around the neck

We’re victims, we say: mere vessels,
drinking the jasmine scent
of this one’s skin, the green
of another’s eyes

And whatever
harm may come we are not to blame for it:

love is a dictator
and won’t be disobeyed.
Sometimes we manage
to convince ourselves of that.

Sometimes I manage to forget that I decided not to fall in love again.

Inspired by the words of Julia Copus