Gesturing vaguely, requesting the waiter,
Asking for a different life.
There's sorrow in mine, and a toughness far greater
That can't quite be cut with the knife

If I could suggest – just some minor changes,
Put rue where there's ruin in mine.
The hint of resentment in the flavour of friendship
Does not seem to go with the wine.

The arrangement of garnish at the side of my lovelife
Looks lovely, tastes boring and bland.
With all your experience I'm sure you could contrive
a texture my teeth would withstand.

I am - by no means - complaining to frustrate,
But compared my meal just seems unfit.
And when you endeavour to bring me a new one,
I beg you, do not spit in it.