Love Poem, Theoretical Practice

oh diary, why doth my nose runn, protesting too much?

when will my true love surprise me without the tramply hooves' rush?

wherefore art thou, sleepio? In vain insisteth thy name's C3P-O!

Wheel forward, prankster! Gallop tankishly.

And when thine beetled eye rotates mine globes and axis,

Full well will thou know me, my orbs of dropsnot, my loving praxis.