O Tell Me the Truth About Love
Thom Gunn says—love's a Boss Cupid
And Shakespeare says—it’s a Darke Lady
Thom Gunn says—love's a Boss Cupid
And Shakespeare says—it’s a Darke Lady
Some say—it’s a trick in a Tea Room
Some say—ask Miss Lonelyhearts
And when I asked—the boy next-door
Who looked—as if he knew
He smiled at me—cross-eyed
And showed me—what he could do
And showed me—what he could do
.
Does it look like—a pair of shorts
Or a hambone—ready to gnaw on?
Does its odor—remind one of tennis shoes?
That comforting YMCA—smell so divine?
Is it prickly to touch—like a rose bush?
Or soft as—an upper lip’s peach-fuzz?
Is it awkward—long and gangly?
O tell me the truth—about love
.
Lolita—and Lady Chatterley’s Lover
Allude to it—in hushed cryptic tones
It's quite the—scandalous headline
The National Enquirer—so very lewd
I've found the subject—mentioned in
I've found the subject—mentioned in
Accounts of ovens, poets—and suicides
And even seen it—scribbled on walls
In Minneapolis—Airport bathrooms
.
Does it howl like—like Miss O’Reilly?
Does it howl like—like Miss O’Reilly?
Talking Head—of roguery FOX-News?
Is it romantic—like Guantánamo Bay?
Does it hurt—like Abu Ghraib foreplay?
Is it fun—like a Perky Ponzi Party?
Is it romantic—like Guantánamo Bay?
Does it hurt—like Abu Ghraib foreplay?
Is it fun—like a Perky Ponzi Party?
Does it go well—with Caviar & Champaign?
Does it stop—when one gets exhausted?
O tell me the truth—about love
.
I looked inside—my closet
It wasn't there—or anywhere
I tried the statues—at Marienbad
And the mirrors—of Versailles
I listened to—Billie Holiday sing
The Blues—and Judy Garland weep
The Blues—and Judy Garland weep
But it wasn't—under the bed
O tell me the truth—about love
.
Does it happen—in a crowded room
Somebody catches your eye—and winks?
Does it make you—weak in the knees?
Somebody catches your eye—and winks?
Does it make you—weak in the knees?
Does it make you—feel sick in your stomach?
Do you like to fiddle—with his curls in the dark?
Does it cost lots of money—like a kept man?
Does it cost lots of money—like a kept man?
Does it think Pretty Boy—is all you need?
Are Love Stories—vulgar & vivacious?
O tell me the truth—about love
.
When it comes—will it nonchalantly?
When it comes—will it nonchalantly?
Like some boy—picking his nose?
Will it rob me blind—like some hustler?
Or run over me—like Paolo Pasolini?
Will it come like a—breath of fresh air?
Will it be discourteous—like rough-trade?
Will it change my life—forever and ever?
O tell me the truth about love.
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