Long

The fairytales are written
by candlelight
and the 'I love you's
still written in sonnets
or long narrative prose.
Yet true sorrow leaves itself in the corner of modern day,
the realism leaves pure daylight in the room
and kills the mood.
Mulled wine is on a cheap rate with Tesco's own and Domino's.
That's our later day romance
and the sonnets written but yesterday mean
little, they mean nothing for they no longer convey
the same bitter, true, painful loves
that used to wait at marble doorways and kiss
beside the river.
We dropped the fairytales, they're all man-made
and by the stations, by the cities we're afraid
of a tomorrow kind-of-love
without facades or 'Oh so pretty's. That's the style,
and by candlelight the pale skin no longer smiles with the trials
of yester-year.