It\'s times like this, my sweet, that hazy
confusion fills our minds all round.
Your head\'s with Peter, loves him crazy,
your heart\'s with Paul, without a sound.
Our Sasha knew this dialectic -
love\'s whirling polka, fierce and hectic,
and afterwards the silent night.
The seething blood, the sudden fright.
A blazing cheek - a snowflake settles,
then melts, is gone, and like a tear
it trickles down to disappear.
And feelings waste like torn-off petals
unless in amber kept from time -
or failing that, a sonnet\'s rhyme.