What Is Love? Poem by Terry Collett

What is love?
She asked him
is this love?

This constant
having sex
no matter

how I feel?
Is there not
some other?

He turned round
hard gazing.
Weren't I good

was I not
amazing?
He replied,

eyeing her:
her pale eyes,
the thin lips.

There must be
more than this,
she told him,

more than shove
and rough hugs
and quick kiss;

much better,
more deeper.
what am I,

Sweet Honey,
love's holder,
love's keeper?

He replied
quite coldly,
sex is love

love is sex,
simple sum:
2 & 2,

me and you.
More to love
than poor sex,

she told him,
animals
do better

more constant,
with one aim:
reproduce,

but not love
not real love,
she uttered.

Go elsewhere
for your love,
whatever

your love is,
he replied,
this is love,

he lied.
She got up
and got dressed

and left him.
He lay there
all alone;

stuffy room,
nothing more
than dull day,

and wind's moan.