Surely these are the chambers of narcissism
What better way to procure a confession of love?
Than the beauty of the pink lights
And the sorrowful darkness
Of London’s night.
Surely over a French martini
Sharing memories of love
From beyond and from afar
We can learn of the strange age of love we live?
We, as the former scorn
of the land we walk now
Had never learned to accept us
Nor learn the value of sexual freedom
It is always sweeter, however, knowing
That our loves and our beloveds
Have learned to accept ourselves first
To then learn to love our families;
Both the ones we make and the ones
That we wish we had made
When we had the chance.