A Table for Two

Pity the love that has to
go through 'a table for two'.

Crouching, in the dead end of
a maze, Love stays rough,
until the feet meet perchance
in a dance, kindled a bluff.
But then they manage to say,
"Ouch!" and "Okay"
or the two look away,
thinking who'd cough.

Coffee, wine or an oxymoron;
endearments, a stifled yawn;
they nibble, and quibble over
niceties. They're drawn
to their own game-
chandeliers, chivalry and shame.
They came,
they came to be gone.

Pity the love that has to
go through 'a table for two'.

He pulls her a chair
and she lets him stare
at her frock, her sock, her heel-
he's genteel; she's fair.
Witty? Pretty? What a pity that they are
so much at par,
they need to spar
and call it care.

He ousts her of her throne
and then plays chaperone;
she  gives him her hand-
together, they walk alone.
It goes as planned but aye!
Was it even worth the try?
The time has gone by
but love has not grown.

Pity the love that has to
go through 'a table for two'.