Into the moonlight he staggers 

In drunken haze                        

A dagger through his breast

            To her.

                                 

                                                She sits by the window
                                                Dreaming of tomorrow
                                                Happy chandeliers in her ears

                                                         He promised.

Amidst autumn leaves

He kissed her feverishly

Caressing worries away

     Wait for me.           

                                                                                        His hand found hers

                                                                                        In the crowd           

                                                                                        Shy stolen glances     

                                                                                                 Love...                                                                                     

                                             

       Rustle of skirts

       He turned to see her

       pretty hair swinging

           He smiled

                                                                             An enigmatic smile

                                                                             Through searing eyes

                                                                             Passionate soundless music

                                                                                 She blushed...

                   

Oh Lurve!

"I think I'm falling in love with him" she said, in the midst of bopping around to some chick song.

"Eh?" I said. 'Eh?' I thought.

That made me think. A lot.

What is this love all about?

So I wrote a trashy song,

and played it all night long.

How do they know if it's love or plain ol' infatuation?

Why put yourselves in such a sticky situation?

It's all sad poetry and depression,

or just a way to get some action.

I know I can't rhyme for nuts,

cold cuts, huts and walnuts.

Sue me if you dare

And see if I care.

I know people who fall in love twice a week

Their future does look a little bleak.

They thrive on it like centipedes in my drain

Oh lord! Will they ever use their brains!

They mope and dope during fights and break-ups,

but wouldn't have it any other way.

Just some minor hiccups,

with unfailing confidence they say.

It's like food and water to them

Like that omnipresent winter phlegm

Rippling muscles and pretty pouts

What is all that hype about?.

I know people, who love multiple others,

One wonders if they need blinkers.

Desperation?. I think not.

All they need is to smoke some pot.

Without love their hearts are barren,

I'm sure it has its perks.

Here's when I quote Woody Allen,

and say whatever works.