The Shaman will see you shortly.

The shaman possibly knows more, i gather,

rather fathom

Unlike my usual epiphanies this is hardly my expertise

I am love struck, stilled in this lunacy and dreaded disease he says

Of the mind

You think not?

Hark, like you are some appointed expert, you are in this just like I

Neither has slept a wink more, nor lesser

Amidst our constant prattling of conversations

Distant, often beating around the bush, to even utter that you love me, I haven't either

"Ah courage!" Courage , i kid you not, it is harrowing

I sat there in the morning, amidst these other women's thoughts

It seemed irrelevant, inherent, yet not relevant

Preposterous, how does one's love die

I doubt it ever died, or if it lived, maybe we both had drowned it

Not you, her and those other four women i know

Now I could be termed a Casanova, but then I didn't search for anyone's embrace

Nor wished to be in the arms of love

I had run from it, all along, I said harrowing earlier didn't I?

Not like me to repeat it usually, yet is unusual

What you and I seem to have here going on

Is this like a poisoned chalice, and the universe intends me to drink from it

Then curl on the floor, whimper, writhe, wither, be winter

I now doubt love could be poison, the Shaman clearly is delirious

Or maybe no one loved him, as he was always nursing everyone

Shamans, God my God, what God Complexes they harbour

Maybe like me, the Shaman will be loved too

We do love our Shaman, make no mistake

But this other kind of love, where like you and I ocassionally look into each other

Into our souls, as we stare through the eyes 

Been Shaman, now needing one to ease

This longing to run into your arms

Like hey, I love you , you understand it right?