I write for the love of the modern eye:
It just looks at me; it doesn’t blink or cry.
Then night falls.  There’s only darkness here.
Now she speaks in love’s tones to me
Secretly; gently and confidently
I talk to the romantic ear.

Turn the lights on.  Do you know why
It’s important to look, to never blink or cry?
Observing all, what is there to fear?
Those tones of love now seem trite;
What was it we said in the night?
What was it we needed to hear?


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