The curve in your hips matches the rock in your heart,
your poor, sad, heart.
Though you're not sad, not at all.
You stand tall on long legs and smile for the camera,
the black, broken camera.

******,
why can't you flinch
or stop twinkling and glowing?
It's all show,
though you're not on stage honey,
the curtains are closed.

Take off your long lashes and your push-up bra,
please,
because the lights are off and the door is shut and the crowd is gone
and I'm here, just me, only me.

What is love?