If Words Were Flowers

So many sonnets talk of love
and tell us how to feel;
it is easy to deceive ourselves
and conceal all that is real.
If words were flowers, they would choke
in a garden full of weeds,
for love cannot describe itself
in terms of human needs.
Our hearts are not in agony,
but our stomachs surely churn,
as poets mock us with a passion,
while our ardour fails to burn.
Yet still we enact this sentiment,
though it may be to our detriment.