My love is like an iridescent hue—
A coruscating haze of orange, red and blue;
A parlous transformation certain photons rue
That face destructive interference.

My love is like a bowl of comely fruit,
Whose shiny, dimpled, waxen pericarps impute
The bitter mesocarp, that hints the more astute
Should give sour endocarp due clearance.

My love owes beauty, cold and statuesque,
In graceful poise evoking perfect arabesque
With classic virtues, recrudescing Romanesque,
In worse excesses than Octavian.

My love has feathers in her coiffeured hair—
A monstrous, non-cladistic, bird-brained hybrid pair,
Her rostral pole chimæric with the derrière
Of some denuded ratite avian.

Love is kind, so some would say,
Love falls blind where lust holds sway,
Love makes victims look away
From hard truths plain to those not trapped.

Love entices and cajoles;
Love hides dark pernicious goals;
Love makes fools of desperate souls
Whose caution, sense and hope are sapped.

My love is like a lake of shining gold
Resplendent as the blazing sunset shades unfold
Concealing mysteries the tempting waters hold
That trap its victims in the deep

My love is like a cool enticing draft
Perfected by the grim apothecary's craft:
A nectar-sweet concoction, pleading to be quaffed
That brings about some witless sleep.

My love is like a rich melodious air
Provoking passion in the hearts that dare
Then lures the stricken to the siren's lair
To meet with fate upon the rock.

My love is like a velvet honeyed trap
That works its deadly art upon the rising sap
But hides its deathly purpose till the cold jaws snap
And bleak conclusion turns the lock.