Romantic Cheapskate v.2.0

You want flowers; I understand that flowers are grand
They tend to pretty up a gentleman caller’s left hand
They don’t stand in for love but they symbolize aptly
Grab a handful of blossoms as I pass by the crab tree
Hand these to the recipient of my affections
Urge they float in a crystal bowl (which I don’t provide). The misdirections
Of the close magic practitioner
Are like Bruce Wayne’s winking subterfuge with the commissioner
As compared to my ability
To convince you that the mints you had, fragility
Of wafer thinness established, were gourmet
Palmed though they were from the bulk bin at Safeway
Hey! You want better? You better want what you need
Not too much in excess of that lest you flaunt with your greed
“I want to be in love at any price.”
Who would seek a dozen roses when a posy would suffice?

I’ll read you poetry, I’ll tell you what I know to be true
I’ll make a sentimental observation about the moon
I’ll kiss you so that you could think that kisses are sublime
But I won’t spend a penny
‘cause all that you’re worth is my time

And I don’t mean to bother my pretty head with the math
But I’ve yet to spend a nickel and I’m pretty good with the past
I’m pretty solid on the figures. They add up:
Curvature never to enter into the graph of the ones that had love
An ever-rising number of ‘em! Oh but you’re final
Take the needle off the record, take the finger off the vinyl
I’ll assign all necessary function to the heart
Don’t know the economy of the energy that’s involved but it’s apart
From the pocketbook and the book-keeping thereof
That ledger’s glued together; to open up’s very rough
Very difficult, barely worth the effort
You wonder when we’re going to Peru again? Never
Sever that fantasy from out your conscious mind
‘less you’re springing for the cab ride down (then that’s just fine)
I don’t offer brimming coffers on the cost of your disgrace
I can tender sweet nothings, come on over to my place

We write rhymes when you meet us on the shores of the Seine
You and we, in between us there’s a gathering refrain:
“cheapskates,” what you call us in those moments of disdain
And it don’t seem to me we’re entitled to the name
Cheap-what?! Dirty word for such a generous soul
Who could lavish affection without any venerous goal
Or who, with such a goal in mind, could apprehend
Any climax in the offing so as not to precede a friend
And indeed the end of the world could be upon us:
It could be you and me blazingly enough to astonish
All onlookers with the glory of our passion
I know my sentimental earnestness is not so much in fashion
But I keep it ‘round the house; some day you’ll think it’s vintage
Instead of deeming it narcotic (as is Olive’s take on spinach)
I’m going to finish what I started with you, this you can expect
And I’ll call it never-ending when I call you up collect