This is the result of me failing to write a villanelle

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Less in love with your lover than with love,
You paint her face between heart-wrenching sighs--
But can't recall the color of her eyes
Or what precise complexion she is of.

'Tis just a tale when push does come to shove
But be that as it may, you realize
What admiration can be wrung from lies,
And many knees grow weak to share your love.

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Lately I'm in the mood for iambic pentameter and romantic ruminations.

Big booty, numbah twenty-one!
Numbah twenty-one, big booty.