Overlooking Lovers

"She reassured me with an unfamiliar line." Love is a mystery school, yearning for sages well able to reckon sixes from nines. True wits should elect sin's disbursements rather than reflect on love's scenes of rushing bunglers. Love is sick, blind, unkind. Aren't we cruel? She chided: brush your flapper, dying blue between that pair of cheese crackers. Remove the Devil's Pitchfork from your hair. Doubling as Dracula, your zeal repealed by loving an unpersuaded other. Stay not inconsolable, my weaning one! She knelt beside me, interpolating my orations. Entreat for veritable blindness to take better blame. Apathetic to any flame, resisting even sipping sunshine interred in the long night of voluminous drapes, pray for cardiac arrest to efface 1700 hours of shadows. Perhaps, pray you would love me, and I shall say something of it.