This bloke says:
»You should write a love poem,
One of those nice 'Love is...' poems
Because people need their dreams and fantasies...«
So I’ll tell you what love is.
Love is passion and pain
In the darkness of the night,
Screaming spasms of hatred,
The line between drawn so close,
Standing on the edge, eyes wide awake,
Power pounding in your veins,
The vision of your face in a shock of light,
Love is hard and savage bright
And bleeding knuckles
Where you punched the wall,
Agony and jealousy exploding in the dance-hall
The knifeblade of tension
Cutting us both ways.
It’s fighting, fighting, back to back
You and I out-numbered three to one,
Laughing and running afterwards
And bloodsweet kisses
Grinding on your broken teeth.
Love is my nails in your back
And grinning in the face
Of a small town’s hatred
Oh, that’s what love is, sweetheat,
Not pastel pink and wedding white,
The same old traps, the half-hearted lies,
The cold death...
Love is red hot and black hearts.
Your whole soul burning
And singing all the while
Oh yes, that’s what love is.
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