Be Cupids’ Arrow Broken?

Be Cupids’ arrow broken on this dark February night?
Be Cupids’ arrow broken from the swift air it follows?
Has the heart-shaped laced tip flung and found another’s chest?
Be that my plate too rigid to break
and the mind too valleyied to quake.
No resistance or fault I pluck from others,
but my heart, tonight, is a target missed.
My beat skips as my quill runs dry, the result of bad aim.
A pen that cuts wells like an arrow falling on the soldier of Helen’s eye.
Deliver love wrapped with your bow!
On this stormy night, let it slice through me like rain disintegrating snow.

Perhaps, it can’t bust the rusted chain,
or may it be, he has trouble with the lock I put around me;
or the silver lining required for entry.
I possibly keep myself too well hidden.
Conceivably, the archers’ shots’ path was stepped in front of by another;
who now find themselves in love.
Knowing full well and good, a flying boy has no aim.
Possibly an off day?
It’s plain to see, my angel of love has a broken wing.
But lets remain to be specific, my trouble is,
that by chance,
I was hit, and no one was in eye-shot of my grin.
I do have similar features,
and my winged cherub is anything but young,
so my defense is looks can be deceiving.

Any or all, the result is the same.
On this evening, I see no trace of dart, or feather, or hand,
and no wound to tend, but my first suggestion wins.
With many attempts and arrows wasted to my side,
my poor god of love no longer wants to try.
So my named-arrow he has broken.
No glue may ever mend the heart-shaped laced tip
that was meant for my soul but never found its end.