Love is Rather Boring
The truth is, Love is Rather Boring. Write
That on the walls of toilet stalls and spray
It on the high fence round the jail. The blight
Of uninspired graffiti will convey
The message best. Monotony, the same
Old stuff strung out with just the details changed—
So what? If we altered the syndrome’s name,
That might just help. L’amour? Illness estranged
From its clinical vocabulary
Is still disease. “Her heaving breasts” are tits.
“His monstrous manhood” is merely hairy
Cock. It’s all just interchangeable bits.
..It’s like a stagnant pool without ripples,
….No matter how distinctive this one’s nipples.