I fear much of that eros bow
where love so much as pierces
the pale virgins soul
Placing Sweet-kisses, red wine-stained lips;
lovers glow
Pale lines, artificial glow;
so much as complicated on patterns
pickled seen on a kaleidoscope;
Cherub aiming his charmed bow
down at mortals down low
soon where fate changes
and destines for two to meet;
weaving the patterns together so they strum
a chord together, creating an afterglow
I fear so much of the Eros bow
could, when two patterns meet,
create so much of a harmonious disaster?
A parody of fate?
or a glamour, a cover-up for a show