And, so I rest my case.

I could do in the absence of your sweet grace,

For, what worth is of worth of water to a wilted flower?

Though a surreptitious desire and a denial conflate

And while sulk I a li’l more in my sole crafted melancholy

And to draw onto a mortal close and never dwell upon

This labyrinthine dalliance, this nemesis of a past quantum,

This ineffable propinquity, this serendipity’s wait.

No sir, I yearn for no more than your obsolesce, of being, existence.

For I’ve had it good and, hence I rest my case!