I Am Nothing More Than A Rodomontade

I look into your deep cascading eyes,
And wonder if you know about the abiding lies,
The ones I feed you through the misty fog,
You say shrouds my tangled monologue,
And when you ask me my name,
I respond with a mystery just the same,
And your hair swishes as shake your head,
Knowing in your heart I'll always be a puzzle of said,
But do you know that I have a missing piece?
And though many have thought that that is they I begged them to cease,
For I have already found it in your arms,
Which no matter how much I delve cannot seem to set off alarms,
I said I cannot love but I hope you know that is a facade,
Nothing more than a rodomontade,
Made up for the fools and shallow breathers,
To keep them only at small teasers and little believers,
So I may sleep on a bed of warm cotton,
But I would give them up and it would be forgotten,
If pride were to be abandoned and worn,
And my own self would not forscorn,
And I wish I wasn't this way born,
Because I think I'm in love with you