Like a Machine

I am grateful for my heart's stoic ice
Forbidding itself too easily smit
By the slightest beauty seemingly nice
With intellect to accompany it;
Troublesome enough to manage affairs
After filtering the commonweal
From the finer things with which it compares
In its odd rarefication zeal...
All too often entirely unfair,
Making stoics poorly jurisprudent
In all matters of tender loving care...
Or whenever heartache is protrudent.
Yet often I see heartless thoughts depart
When vexing milady with Cupid's dart!