No Constraints

There's no rhyme or reason to my love,
Or a meter or a pentameter, below or above,
Or any other sort of limiting factor,
Or ability of performance by an actor.

My love is my love, it has no subsitution,
No immitation, and no pollution.
It's pure and simple, and always whole,
And generates more energy than any lump of coal.

There are no restrictions holding me back,
And I never need to cut it some slack,
'Cause it's always on, it's always burning,
It's always wheeling, always churning.

I have a love language, but it is no argot,
But I do have a focus, only one target,
And that target is the recipient of my joy
Whose face is more beautiful than any wench of Troy.

My love, I suppose does have one limitation,
And that it's target at Amber with no immitation.