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.
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