You talk lots about Love
But what does it look like?
As pretty as you,
Or as kind?

*

Like   the painting in the mirror
In       your favorite nightclub
Like   the unrobed reflection
In       your  morning bathtub

Raw,   unreservedly charming

Like     the towel, clung to your waist
That     while you walked to the bed, sliding
Like     the heavenly lips of yours
That     parted when pleased, singing

Tomorrow after tomorrow,
Chase away melancholy,
Let us see there is a day that follows.
Where we either be a giver or one that spends,
Either lend love or be one that borrows.

Wait for the new morning just to say, to-day,
And hopefully to-morrow,
Hoping to sing no more of sorrow.
Some stopped chanting rhyming sadness, no doubt
Or joy, or resentment.  
Notice they did not sing since everything went static.
Only the lonely and sickening wind -
Made the whining music.
The only time birds sing only of  rejoicing,
And not torment, neither a word 'bout losing,
Is when they don't sing at all.