Lying on your bed together, watching
a Woody Allen film, Allen compares
sharks and relationships, always moving
to stay alive. You’d think that constant swimming
would tire us out, but no time for splitting hairs.
Lying on your bed together, watching
Allen joke to the camera, describing
his neurotic lifestyle, all his doomed affairs.
Sharks and relationships, always moving
beneath the surface, we could be happy, walking
along some quiet beach then up it flares.
Lying on your bed together, watching
figures on the screen instead of talking.
The final scene, the soundtrack’s closing airs.
Sharks and relationships, always moving,
the way you’d move, disappearing, leaving
other fish to catch but none of them compares.
Lying on your bed together, watching
sharks and relationships, always moving.