To the love sick having breakfast in bed,
Pretending to be Mr. and Mrs. Newlywed.
Holding hands and french kissing in the park,
then going at it like rabbits in the dark.
Answering to pumpkin, cupcake, lambchop, pookie, and boo.
Doing everything together as if attached by super glue.
Always begging forgiveness and promising to make amends,
after blowing off their closest family and friends.
Finishing each other's sentences and talking in code,
making everyone around them want to barf into a commode.
I wonder if you two know how obnoxious you both seem,
to all of those who wish they were living your dream.
(C) 2016 Copyright Elena Plotkin
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem