A bad case of eroticising transference, says Robin

Hell's teeth, Robin,
I'm head over heels in
desperate, delicious,
completely undignified
love with you.
You're utterly not my type-
too small, too cool,
too bland, too kind,
too calm;
following rules, suffering fools,
and oozing your brand of
therapeutic balm.

Oh, you deliriously gentle,
unconventional creature,
sipping your Freud,
never annoyed,
declaiming all those preachy
ponderous things,
and almost sprouting wings
beneath that dreadful
(I adore it)
purple jersey.

No, please don't hug me again
or I'll split in half
with the sheer
miraculous pain of it.
Already you're so
entangled in my nights,
playing the lead in all those flights
of fantasy; your rough lips nuzzling
my thighs, eclipsing my eyes
and your soft fingers
breaking and entering,
and I am opening like a rose
and liquefying,
and the whole ravished night
is crying Robin Robin Robin
Robin
Robin

You give me water
and it turns to wine
(Cana had nothing on you, love).
You make me coffee
and I'm on cloud nine
and the things I want to do, love.
Come a bit nearer,
dare to be dearer,
set me alight,
switch on the night;
I'm deplorably,
rip-roaringly,
in hopeless, hapless,
helpless, reckless
love with you. 

*

Christ! I'm a fool,
declaiming all this dross,
when you couldn't give a toss,
but just stay infinitely cool
and keep dragging on that endless
cigarette.
I'm wasting my time, Robin,
you useless bloody swine, Robin,
I wish to God
we'd never even met.
While you send hefty bills,
I seek heinous thrills,
yet you're so laid back
you barely even blink.
I hymn you as Adonis,
but you're just the prince of phoneys-
a gelded, senile, clapped-out, 

crummy shrink.