“What is love?” Haddaway never answered.
“Might as well face it, you’re addicted to love,” Palmer warned.
“Love me, love me. Say that you love me,” The Cardigans sarcastically quipped.
“Love, never knew what I was missing,” Keyshia said as she started to pull in for a kiss.

My form of love is falsely depicted
In manufactured lines and lyrics.
No boundless poetry set to music.
I feel romance, though I do not pursue.
These songs warn of that sacrement
And harm the tunnels of
Grey matter

Love is artificially flavored
Yet its high fructose I crave.
I cave in.

“Hey, you’ve got to hide your love away.”
I will, John.

I will.

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