Yes, You’re Not in Love

 

Yes, You’re Not in Love

 

If you’re not in love,

then why do you drop everything?

Drop your ancient hit single

into my sea fevered dreams,

watch it flip in a brimful of 45

onto turntables that thrive

on spun out jukeboxes

that twist and shout, that live and jive,

back when the love was worth

the living and you were alive?

You’re dead and dying of thirst:

what you took for love

is Opal Fruit rebranded as Starburst

a piss poor synthesised flavour,

that never will pass muster

in a parade of quavers, semi-quavers

black dotted crotchety old fools,

why, expedient love is cruel,

those who drown must driftwood grab

and if they live, live something drab.

If you’re not in love,

then why persist in haunting

my half-holed house that only just

held up, looked up,

looked out and shout out?

Those foundations will give out,

but, here to save us, James Bond,

late of the living daylights,

as warm as old Nick 

grabbing his favourite shirt

doing a somersault on your bed,

to put something inside instead.

We pray for fantastic days and mercury

but don’t ask me to give you back,

when if you’re not in love, 

it’s not me you lack.