No, no, no, no, no

No personal insight today, no talk of work, no worries, no money and no regrets (that come to mind).

The poem "First Love" has prompted a few interpretations in the past, none of which I was consciously wishing to express, in fact this was one of the weird ones – the poems that practically write themselves, like I was just along for the ride and to push the pen.

One woman said she thought it was about a girl; secretively pregnant for the first time, but now alone following her passage into womanhood and the creation of her first true love. This was apparently concocted from the interpretation of the word tear (as in eyes) for tear (as in tear up the book).

Another said it was the words of a woman to a man during intercourse, which I didn’t go for as no-one has ever recited a few lines during my time(s)!

I never sent this to the person who I thought it was for, for they were something of a secret; a good old fashioned crush, its depth mirroring the height of the a pedestal on which she stood, then as short as the time it took to fall back to earth when she started going out with my mate (of old).

Have a look and see if you agree with me that it is merely a big dollop of crush-love.

First Love ...
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