Old match.com poem

Back before you were born, son, I was looking for love on match.com. There was a young woman whom I wound up basically not dating, but who asked me for a poem. After one or two back and forth poems, I wrote this, which I've always been fond of, and so now I share it with you:

No... please... no more rhyming...
My brain is so fried from software designing

That trying to match the ends of lines
Isn't working so well this time

And the tempo isn't working so well in these sentences
Which is why you don't write e-mail when you're senseless.

I fear that to rhyme the last word
I must end both lines with the very same word.

(Hey! This isn't as hard as I first might have thought,
It's supposed to be difficult, clearly it is not.)*

But torture is a poem that rhymes only close
And so I must abandon my prose.

The moral is: Poems whose styles are loose
Are best left scribed soley by a really drunk muse.

Synchlessly yours,

Rob

* The failed rhyme here needs a regional accent
Else you might get the joke, but only by ... uh ... accident.