10 February 2013
Don't talk to me of Love,
That icky pink and red parade
Which invades the shops this time of year,
Draping them in Hallmark's brand of 'true' dedication
And admiration.
Hush.
Don't talk to me of Love
In all it's beauty,
It's glory
Atop a victorious pile
Of trials
And sorrows,
Where it shouts 'I've conquered
And I don't care where you've been.'
Hush.
Don't talk to me of Love,
The kind that fizzes and sparkles
In champagne flutes
And dances over cakes and cars and dresses
When folks say 'I do'.
Even then it's not a fool-proof glue,
Even on the day which is supposed to be the first
And last,
A promise of a lifetime
Which people tend to break.
Hush.
Don't talk to me of Love;
I'm afraid the world's made me
A cynic
And I refuse to stand
One more soppy sonnet
Dripping in metaphor,
Where it's defined
As majestic stars
For the homing pigeons we lovers are.
Drawn by science and faith towards each other,
Glorified magnets of desire.
Hush.
Don't talk to me of Love,
Just promise me tomorrow.
And tomorrow and the next
You can make that promise again.
Hush • Opuss № I