I sit and stare, the cursor taps, yet no
Words come to tell you of my, uh, sorrow.
That’s right, sorrow and I, yet ever grow
Much closer, for you seem - i’ll just borrow
From the bard; “my words fly up”, and yet you
Ignore me. Such is modern love. It flies
In the face of tradition. Still, you too
Have felt the spark? No? So, quick with the lies,
So suave. My internet flirt. Let’s dispense
With all of this. Coffee? A woodland grove?
Nothing too “poetry”. Though, in defense,
Of tropes, they are so sweet. Kissing and oaths
To love forever, will never lack style.
I’ve gone on, here. It’s coffee not a trial.