I have fashioned myself a cosseting nest of denial to protect me from my earnest yearnings.
I sit atop my stoop in cavalier crusted pessimism lobing over stones at the passing pedestrians enraptured with the bliss of romance.
"rigamarole dimwitted ****" I huff as I examine the fluidity of their movement.
They bob along as two flocculent clouds set agog.
Such dulcified fools; they see their lovers lips brimming with nectar and skin dashed with gold.
"Such farcical magic musings, who needs such things?" ; I question  rustling in my scathing bed of delusion.
One day I awoke to see a frenzied nest stationed next to me with a peculiarly pristine fellow bellowing.
The days following my eyes were deterred from ogling at the lovebirds beneath me as they grew curiously closer to the voltaic man vexing me.
He didn't pass his hours feeding from the disdain and self deprecating disarray, instead he perched giddily reading books and pacing incessantly.  
This mans marrow doesn't reek of lovers idealism, but his eyes lift a veil to show me utter perfection.
Owning the vessel he inhabits he doesn't allow room for preposterous inhibitions.
As he unrobes to show me the mind wrinkles fueling his insanity, I began to wonder if his lips are coated in the same sugar doused divinity.
As his hands gingerly caress mine, I decide to retire my stones, It seems about time I let myself learn to float.