Thoroughly Modern Man They come Petticoats of lace Moulded to their bodies A sculpture of deceit The artist; everywhere you look Sipping from teacups Of poison Their gossip a drone to the ears Gazes sharp as daggers Their romance long lost In the rose bushes lining the streets In droves, they come The herd of glamour Their elegance straight from a magazine And passers by stop to stare At this crowd, this famous crowd They are everywhere Spiders' lashes and painted faces Artwork of the highest calibre Haphazardly placed Sweet as the knife As it plunges to your heart And the boys, they come Walking the catwalk of #life Staring at the show Taking their pick of the crowd But him He is different The lone match struck in the darkness When the electricity is cut. The shock of colour on a page Of dull ink. The new indie For surely, he is not of this world But where is he? And why doesn't he come? My multicoloured knight On a chessboard of grey To sweep me off my feet And carry me away? ~Kirsty~