A lot of poems are
wishful thinking about love,
each verse a part of the car,
vehicle to the stars above.

Wishful thinking about love
might not take you far,
vehicle to the stars above–
kind of a cheesy bar,

might not take you far.
The stalling realities of what’s called love,
kind of a cheesy bar,
like the heart you hold is a dove.

The stalling realities of what’s called love,
jolts that can leave you ajar.
Like the heart you hold is a dove,
but at your sides your arms are.

Jolts that can leave you ajar,
looking to hail a cab or catch the bus,
but at your sides your arms are.
You’re arriving at obvious from oblivious.

Looking to hail a cab or catch the bus, 
each verse a part of the car,
you’re arriving at obvious from oblivious;
a lot of poems are.