The best disguise is always love’s:
The iron hand in a velvet glove,
The terror that swoops down from above.
As you lay back, begin to relax,
Love cleaves you in two with its axe
While Cupid stabs you in the back
And your beloved sneak attacks….
In the sultry mists of night
You’re defeated without a fight,
Without dignity or even the chance
To pull up and buckle on your pants.
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