Love triangles

I know all the angles.
Something always dangles.
In love triangles.
But if there is an absolute,
Maybe it is the odd suit.

Who's to say what is the ideal.
We all just want our meal.
The truth is in the pudding.
Not in the brooding.
Love is a fickle thing.

I strongly have a notion.
Of this particular potion.
It's a license to ill.
Sometimes even to kill.
Love is a fickle thing.

It's a special recipe.
Sometimes it has to be.
To separate the wheat from chaff.
The ardor from the laugh.
You don't need no photograph.