The raiment of a troubadour appeals, but isn't cut for me,
A schlub romancing someone's wife at lunch inside a fast food
Restaurant. Yes, I'd say I love you truly, and I find you beautiful,
And regal, even, in your cashmere sweater and some clingy
Jeans, but I can't summon honeyed phrases of the sort those
Guys would use, and I have never touched a lute. Then again,
I hear no echoes of the witty trobairitz in your complaints about
Your husband or your humid whisper when you say, "Let's go
To bed."