Lola

My mother used to say, the scent of a woman, is heaven in its own way, absent, for any man, love is a nonsense, like luck in a game, when it's gone, that's the time to weigh, what others witness, . when fine evening’s chance, pours light over sadness, then the cloud breaks, and the sun hangs on, I call out your name, like an arriving cargo ship, coming home, seafarers add to their lists I know I’m one.