Bare Grace For The End Of Romantic Days
Once upon a time a prince came to rescue
His beloved imprisoned in a tower
As he galloped a black stallion, the maiden
Intact, produced an immaculate handkerchief,
Waved her lace and tresses, gasping relieved
As through the bad witch's claws she glimpsed her saviour
(Other versions of the same tale, alternatively
Make reference to the gills of a black dragon)
And they lived happily ever after...
You've been often told: you're the last romantic;
To you it always sounded like a compliment;
Though this wasn't your favourite kind of fable.
Intimately you long for a revival
Of the good old days when sound, solid values
Reinforced one's awareness of romanticism
(Life was not made any easier, though)
You didn't mind wearing a monkey suit
As you proposed to swear eternal love;
You even knelt down to issue subdued,
Pitch-perfect declarations of best love
In the style of a lonely pet-like lover.
Cliché candlelight suppers were OK
As well as tropical beaches at twilight;
The pinkish surreality of ads
Announcing red roses and zircon rings,
Or impinging poor-quality spumanti
And bonbons, never really bothered you.
Ditto, idyllic scenes of morning bliss.
You never minded those proverbial, cute
Bears completely lined with pick'n'pluck foam,
Or those publicly affectionate exchanges
Of kisses, embraces, nonsense and all.
You endeavoured to capture new sensations;
You're romantic after a bad night's sleep;
But one's roots ought to be bypassed sometimes;
Or what's romantic about nightly farts
And haunting bad morning breath at your side?
You incorporate the fake side of romanticism,
Which is the most available, unfortunately.
Incidentally, after snoring last night
Like a swine at its sacrifice's approach,
I have just verified that both my hair
And my make-up are utterly undone!