A poem about writing a love poem.
It will be as painful as It can be.
A tablespoon of tears, a cup
Full of moon, naturally, which-
(Somewhere on a jukebox a singer sings a song about the lonely life of a singer on the road singing songs to a packed concert hall about the lonely life of a singer singing songs on the road somewhere ...)
Elicits polite titters from the critics.
Later, one lover will say to the other,
"I HATED that!"
That, then, is something like love, is it not?