Paradoxical

I crave his absence and presence all at once,
I know this is paradoxical.
But when he walks with a strut of masculinity,
The aftermath is detrimental!
And when he doesn’t emerge before my eyes,
I cry frantically; I know this is mental!
I declare I hate his beard,
I huff and puff in loud disapproval,
Yet his beard is the same beard I yearn
To stroke; it is so lustfully atypical!
Is this wrong? Is this right?
I swear this is nonsexual!
For a year I played with scenarios,
Until when will this love be hypothetical?