Let's write a sonnet.

We'll climb aboard that sentimental cloud,

Hitch a tinted ride to Hollywood.

Lock into each other's blinded eyes

And see our own, fluorescent.

This is a by-numbers parody of love,

In nursery rhyme identical.

But better this than feel more dangerous -

To find all we have in common is

An itchy, inconvenient lust,

Earthbound, shabby, profound

Only in the way it's selfish.

A lust which might sanitate and dry

If we use big words about it.