If I were a Cubist mastermind
And you a free-spirited Raphaelite,
We could celebrate this love-
Chop it up into bits and pieces,
Fragmented on a vast landscape
of monochromatic grays and blues.
Then mount it on a wall
In some little out-of-the-way alcove
of a giant echo chamber/mausoleum/fortress,
Where gray-bearded old men in tweed sports jackets
Would rest languidly for hours,
Basking in the radiance of this unrequited love
Their heads nodding back and forth
In silent appreciation.
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