Some Call it Shame

 

Love is a song sang in bar rooms

with their neon lovers

twisting as if copulating

on black cherry dance floors

Love is the word sang

with breath of beer,

cigarettes, and sadness.

It’s only a word beneath sheets

so unfamiliar in the morning,

Love is a condom

slipped between compartments

of a lover’s billfold,

never to be used.

Love is a soft thigh,

pale moon on a carpet

made of smells,

love.