AW poem

Love's archer
is Cupid.
But love's swordsman
is Desire, and she
is the trickiest,
the most skillful,
simply-the-best
at what she does.
As the smoke
from her cigarette
curls into the air
(forming the shape
of a heart)
she feints left,
slashes right,
parries once,
then thrusts her blade
into your heart.
Desire overwhelms;
there is no resisting
when she
enters the fight...