The Lost Realist

I love you, for your sweet smile,
Revealing those crooked teeth,
The infinite fuzz your hair are,
The way you fumble and screw up.

But most of all, I love the way,
I can talk to you endlessly.

You love me,
For that couple of hair on my head,
My skin like silt, The way I always,
Love to ride my hyperbole.

And my strength as a man,
Every time I cry on your shoulders.

But wait, don’t tell anyone:
You’re supposed to be my Prize – beautiful and elegant,
And I’m supposed to be your Man – handsome and strong.

In this world of mass-media superficiality
And capitalism-induced inadequacy,
True love will always be, our dirty little secret.