Romantic Love

Romantic love is based on conditions, and it's not love at all.

Romantic Love

By Joseph Wade

Love isn’t like the constant crush of insanity at the beginning.

It’s not the five fingers tapping twice the rhythm of the second hand,

As if they could move it like a truck tailgating a wilted woman’s car

In honking rush hour traffic where gas fumes fill doomsday drivers

And make them sizzle with rage like Lucifer in all Hell’s flashing fury.

Love is like the constant crush of insanity at the beginning,

But it feels like a clinking chain constantly on a dirty dog behaving for food,

Or like lifelong  freegans�"always stinking�"spangeing simpletons in the big city.

Life’s Dreams die on avarice’s alter�"the drip drops of its blood unheard.

The life of love becomes�"beat by beat�"your free gift for sustained sacrifice,

Free for thirty dollars in thirty Television colors guaranteed by flags flashing,  “As Seen on TV.”

The brightly polished politician of lies is Cupid and his arrogant arrows of domination.

Beneath his boyish skin is a damning devils soul, slimed with black bile and fresh filth.

Love brings booming heart attacks, and pushes poor victims into the abyss from the edge of life.

It is Superman’s worst kryptonite, and achievement’s arrest,

But love will win every passing person, like itching corybantic cavemen to their first fire

whose pyrexia passions burn their sanity to amassed ashes awaiting rain’s removal,

Betraying black star scorch stains singeing eternally without further flames.

Love is the derelict’s dagger dug into Caesar when he said with a falling face Y Tu Brute?

The last breath of life will whisper, “sweet slave, you were loved.” But you know,

If you cut the puppet master’s moorings, and willfully walk from their gloved right hand,

It will only go grab another, and work it’s trite tap dance, howling hatred for you all the time,

With eyes bulging and lips turning up and down, affirming approval of each correct move,

And you, loveless, would be born a real boy.