Words Become Delinquent

I dropped a rhyming couplet somewhere near.

So if you find it, could you bring it here?

I had it in my pocket, but – oh dear! –

I didn’t even feel it disappear.

The metre of the words was just iambic;

It wasn’t all that fanciful or classic.

Loosely themed round something faux-romantic,

You’d recognise it if you ever passed it.

Alas! Fie! Woe is me! - and all that nonsense

That men in tights should say on stage with glee -

But for myself, well, I’d rather drink essence

Of Skol and Frosty Jack mixed with cat pee.

So if you find my couplet, please do stop it

From joining in a deviant, foul sonnet.