She has deigned to dance with me,
My lady in the heels,
The gross distaste writ 'cross her face
Is a glimmer of what she feels.
She rigid glides into embrace,
Taut, perfect in her pose.
And I'm soon informed that I'm stood wrong
By a wrinkle in her nose.
I ask of my fair noble queen,
Where I've gone amiss.
She sighs as one so slighted must,
"Not like that, like this."
So I tread on, on toes and heels,
And seconds feel like hours,
And she sighs on dissatisfied
With my telepathic powers.
She gurns as though she took a shit,
And the cesspit was too shallow,
I sweat as though I'm pushing round
Some porcelain wheelbarrow.
Then as awkwardly as we began,
The end of my disgrace.
A proffered hand, a rictus grin,
An instant about face.
I get the point, my lady fair,
I am but a peasant.
But if we are to dance, may I not ask,
Be a little bit more pleasant?
Ah, that feels good to get off my chest.