love is most certainly a trident of foolishness plunging through your chest.

lust is much worse, its sickening violin string debauchery.

attention lurks in a trench coat behind the dumpsters in the alley where you must walk home from work everyday.  it laughs at you as you hasten your speed.

compliments divide and conquer like Johnny Appleseed emperors; pies and corpses.

desire floats in a hideous parade, all spangled with seat belts and natural disasters.

need dries its hands on your soul, leaving smudges like overturned canoes.

and flirtation is just like this: an ecstatically bland jumble of words like towers, keeping you out and locking you in.