The gauge of romance swings way past

reason.

True love pins the needle as I

hurtle past "the last chance for

logic" sign in a breathless blur.

Moderation got out at the last

stop light, mumbling something about

"Thanks anyway but I think I'll walk."

Our roadside diner was a little Chinese

restaurant.

You know

it's not expensive when it's lit by fluorescence.

Those ubiquitous tubes of

cheap factory light

with all flicker and no warmth.

When hell freezes over, they'll light

it with fluorescence.

But we sat in that tiny eatery, with

hot tea and cold noodles,

and I know I loved you past

the speed of reason, when you

looked good no matter what, like

home at the next turn, and

even fluorescent light becomes you.