I am reading a book about love;
true love, eternal love
promises made, promises broken
hearts betrayed, some silly token.
Am I jaundiced in my outlook.
but I just can't muster the enthusiasm.
It's like a new hair cut
the bit revealed where the sun
just hasn't tanned the skin.
Chicken neck, or some such thing;
necks are vulnerable you know;
you can snap them, rip them, tear them.
Is that what love is all about?
I'm reading a book about love;
it's sheer escapism
but I am enjoying it so.
(c)EMG05
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