(The prospect of your eyes hidden behind the hair-
style of a just-woke-up darling looking square
at these words pushes me to devise, with utmost care,
the following lines in as debonair
a fashion I can conjure.
Forgive me, if you wish, for any chair-
leaving phrases I might've missed.)

Bathed in red beneath a blood moon glare
and strung in stockings for all they're aware,
a picnic with cherries ensued elsewhere
between two dove birds in love-locked stare:
within the upper grounds of a certain lair
only veteran heart-thieves would ever dare
break in, much else was thrown in share
besides the cherries
of a picnic love affair.

A few blows of endearment amidst a midair
smoke thirty thousand feet in rare-
fied air, and an exchange of where-
abouts within the massive grounds of a nightly fair--
glamour and energy had brewed with a potent flair
of sweet and spicy that forgoes prayer
alongside the scarlet nights of puppy love. There
exists a frightening tug
even hugs themselves cannot compare.

Alas, when the ice had melted and the air
was hung with hanging puffs, hands paired
in woven resolve, all either cared
to have was the mere company of their sweet beloved
beneath the fiery glare
of a searing blood moon.

("I love you"
"I love you too")