Making Amends...

It's never the same, 
to be enamoured by the same person 
again and again;
to call her life, 
which was once the strangest you'd have seen,
your own.
To call her past,
the most freakish itinerary of events
your home.
And yet, those eyes;
lovely, globes of passion, let me tell you;
Are again here to mesmerize;
and betray me of the governance of
logic over my life.

Call me weak,
I know you'd call me weak,
but I am in the same trap, once again!
I find my bliss
in the most complicated of relations
Don't care how much it's to your disdain.
And underneath the complications
of these emotions;
I assume another era would sublime.
And I, of all the skilled workers,
would not lay hands even on a dime.
Except again for that satiated heart,
and perhaps the most reckless,
perpetually addicted mind.