The Second Time

I know the catchy song whose lyrics make me cringe.
I've seen the way green leftovers leave hosts upon the fringe
Of desperation. I believe I almost know the reason why
That film, which moved me once, may only make me want to cry.

The bragged-of site's disappointment's awkward hell
Is nothing to me. At least twice, I've seen life tell:
“Too pressed, too dull, too bland, too late,”
The age-old story of the sterile second date.
(Chemistry's no science, nor as organized as art;
New friends may burn our catalyst, and then depart.)

I fear that I embellish when I remember lines;
Those characters I loved bear weak embrace the second time.
The standards of the past bring to defeat
Those things that we liked once, upon repeat.