My love says she likes me
because I'm such a great deipnosophist,
a sanguine fellow
whose susurrus musings
crepitate with a farrago of meanings,
a  protean and hortatory munificence
that brings her to her knees
in delight.

I adore her as well
for the beatific rapprochement
she accedes to
even when we expatiate
on and on about things mercurial.

Yes, I will always adore
her lissome acquiescence
to the inexorable germanity
of the simple fact
that we're simply
head over heels
for each other,
if you know
what I'm trying to say.