If lies are things off which they live
And they promise what they cannot give
They may wave her the reddest flag,
but to me, they’re glittering glass.
If magicians they be, I stand gawking;
Turning somethings into nothing,
Hiding pennies up their arms—
But I’m sure they gave me the moon and the stars.
A peek in their magic cupboards,
All their secrets, mercilessly uncovered
And I wish for nothing more
Than to be just a little dumber
To better appreciate my generous lover.