It’s a table for two or a couple of drinks, with pairs everywhere, sometimes it stinks.
Always plural or double, left unjoined in a nuptial, in a bubble, being single can be trouble.
There’s two-fers and deuces, running short on excuses, rarely place for the Ace, no space.
Twosomes are winsome and duos harmonious, it’s teams making sport while one comes up short, erroneous.
Talk on the phone? You can’t do it alone. Pairs are a duo, never uno but deux, oh the groan.
Lovers make love, pairs of gloves not one glove, to cuddle or spoon is once a blue moon, no cocoon.
Twos can schmooze mixing booze and at parties they mingle but the one’s in the corner with the blues, very single, no tingle.
But pity them not, for they still have a lot, Though they ain’t tied the knot, it might not be sought and alone isn’t lonely. It’s not.