Yeah, fake romance, again

   



    After the willed amnesia

        Of several glasses of wine

    I sink into the armchair

        And watch you

            Flow through each room,

                The embodiment

                    Of "beautiful,"

            A teenage Midas,

        And I'd rather not rhapsodise

            But with you stood there,

                Nonchalant, untouchable

                -- Darling,

                It's hard not to.