Romance is STUPID, a poem by a sentient being [still enamored]... my amorous endeavor.

I love romance. 
I am a romantic. 
I want romance. 
I want a romantic.
Why is it that...
every man I love...
it turns south?
Your bellicose belt
so it seems...
I sleep to dream...
but of good things
then it comes:
pernicious slumber.
Better days do not haunt me...
as Chavez did sing.
So, it is spoken
and often I sing...
you brought your offer to the table...
but why didn't you bring:
stability?
longevity?
respect?
your words to keep?
you histrionic man!
preternatural man...
errant man...
dissimulative man!
I love you.
heed this:
I limn what you have left me
through hortatory means...
I am vapidly supine.
Be that which you never explicate
so that you may apprise me of your pain.
Mental anguish shall not reign...
Away with emotive malaise.
I came here just to love you...
why did you turn me away?
This thing we had...
so veritable.
You know,
I knew.
My contrite malversation...
a mess from my melange with you.
My life's conflagration
...love / hate intermittenly strewn...
could be assuaged
by only you.
Mimetic valetudinarians...
gossipy prattle ensues.
*Insert some timeless adage*
Ultimately, you'll see the truth.
Here, I unveil this late night's cerebration
so that I may explicate to you...
everything I've put on the table
[for your eyes only]
remains true.
This is my billet-doux to you.

- me February 2001 {of sorts}

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*Some timeless adage [inserted]*:

"Love seeketh not Itself to please,
"Nor for itself hath any care,
"But for another gives its ease,
"And builds a Heaven in Hell's despair."

So sang little Clod of Clay
Trodden with the cattle's feet
But a Pebble of the brook
Warbled out these metres meet:

"Love seeketh only Self to please,
"To bind another to Its delight,
"Joys in another's loss of ease,
"And builds a Hell in Heaven's despite."

William Blake (1757-1827)