The 'Likes.'

You don't like sex, woke, nor heaven or hell,
for godssake, lighten up, your turn, never can tell;
what do you want - depression, caring, mystique or love?
There you have it, rather don't know what's really above.

I'll tell you, it's not all good, latch on to what you've got,
time's running out, not easy we know, do something really hot,
what's to lose - before you can't walk, no more coherent,
it won't happen to me - it did, so are you still confident?

I wrote about Byron - using brothels, how can jealous?
Dull, his exotic lifestyle turned out to be ponderous;
I have a friend like Shelley, no need to be famous,
there's the irony, weren't so till dead, so say all of us.

My wife wags a finger, don't be so smart, infamy may linger,
see, your right knee's going, like Byron, you're a dead ringer.