Finally, he spoke, "My lady... you are a vision of pulchritude! Your hair, like succulent treacle waves of profusion! Your eyes, sparkling gems of sapphire moonlight! In your effulgent presence I feel... coarse and unworthy. I must go," and with that he turned and slumped away.
Heavily bearing in his heart the tragic, unrequited love of a poet. I didn't know what to say, what could I do to ease his tortured soul's great pain? So I chased him outside into the parking lot, then just as his eyes shone bright with hope, I kicked him in the shins. What a creep.