New love cuts fairy-lit lanes like a plow,

chuckles over clamor of cobbles’ rise
and topple. Who strings? Who is strung along

elated? Scored upon your lily brow

as you rearrange your bangs’ serration;

signal both conscious and subliminal

somehow. Your new man may be a keeper

but plucked humility rings criminal.

Bank reservations, signify in song

rhapsodic or deceive. It spills from eyes               

you're up to in bubbles bathing, deeper 

easing: another month or two presumed

until he’ll cut the strings, spring vacation

ill received. Look me up when you're exhumed.