He'd made an assumption
Which vanity and a deep wish for
Concealment wouldn't dispel
"You've read the romantics"?
Involuntarily I led him on
"Yes, yes, the Romantics, of course"
Sure footed in the lie of it
Greater his need for confirmation,
Gratification derived from shared appreciation.
He reeled off the familiar names
The decidedly unromantic illiterate
Unrevealed, nodded approvingly
I'd never had time for the Romantics
In a solitary room shorn of trimmings
The abundance of a single rose
It's truth and beauty
Induced nausea, put me to shame
Such riches were for others
© 2004 David Sylvian/ Opium (Arts) Ltd.
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