Myself I tried to refresh her Mind To the Inexactitudes of Beauty’s Truth Wherein she then found me even more Loathsome
You see, listen, here: She tended to readily Sway towards the jesters Made of rosy perfume
I complained! But to what avail? None! I began to think elsewhere What if my 'words' have no Connectivity To this Damsel? Then what ought I to do?
Her Mind told her Whispers That were In essence I can confirm Rather far too confusing Romantic language? What absurdities! And so, indeed She became confused As I Tried to express my opinion on what is going on Between us Which was precisely that which Is inexact But her Heart drove her fanatically Towards Irrationality Whereby that really All over again Did leave me All too Disconnected From her
One dull night She screamed, “So what then do you say love is after all?” I exclaimed calmly, “What love is, “ She interrupted me, screaming further, ''Speak words, you make no sense! ”Always, when you speak, I lose myself “And that does frighten me”
And, I attempted to paint for her a candid portrait Of what ‘love’ is and What ‘love’ is not She did not like the portrait at all As per the usual “Ah well”, I said, sighing “For this is after all, is what love is “Never! never!” she screamed Typically
I told her: “You do remind me of Dorian Gray! “Do you not?
“For you deny reality “Of the indefinables “You do not understand “That nothing is Certain “In our Existence “Save the dour End! “And that is where “You find so many “Difficulties “In your fully perturbed “Solitary life”.