That old jack-in-a-box called love

Oh that old jack-in-a-box called love!
What do we do to deserve it? I often wonder.
Love is an old shadow-thief – steals your clothes
And runs off tittering, leaving you shivering,
Thinking, "Shit – did something just happen?"
Some people tell me it should be hallmarked,
Or shot through with one name like seaside candy,
That it doesn't just come one day and go the next.
But – hey – one day you both wake up, and let's say
She has changed, or maybe you have changed,
And damnation take it all but where's that spark?

Oh that old shell-game called love!
Find the lady? Easy-peasy by comparison!
Love is a one-armed bandit – you get a jackpot
And you want more! It never happens, and – Bang!
You're left with an empty purse and a silly face.
Some people tell me I shouldn't be led on.
"Wait," they say. "And love will come when it comes!"
They tell me to cool the flirting, keep in check.
But – hey – when I see someone lay down the cards
I have to go and point. That one! No? That one!
I get burned or, worse, the found lady does.

Love is that old joke boxing-glove on a spring!
A Tom-and-Jerry fight where I get up, and my face
Is like a flat-iron or a frying pan, dead-pan surprise!
Love is an up-turned rake in the grass, china teeth,
The anvil dropped from the top storey – thud!
Some people try to tell me it's a gentle thing, well
Mayhap it is, mayhap it ain't. But I lead with my chin,
I lead with my glass heart, not caring if it breaks.
But – hey – when that old boxing-glove hits on me
And hits, and hits, and hits until at last I fall, Oh
You permanent brain damage called love – I love you!