Down Street, One Knee

[busker]

A rather skilful use of language. I loved the following lines:

Faint tap of typewriters from fingers long entombed
A one way mirror, we stand as voyeurs from a parallel time
our torch beams entwine
blackened brick walls with Beck's designs
the city's blocked arteries
our vesselled secret within

However, the poem is more about the underground and less about the proposal. The proposal is rather irrelevant to the whole affair here.
The last line is particularly sinister, like burying Fortunato alive in the wall. I shudder, like the city's arteries, to think about what your guests might think!