To be romantic is to blind yourself.
To be sensual is to touch yourself.
To be blind is the only way to be happy.
To be touched is the only way to feel.

Some of you may dissent with the way I plan to twist these words to suit my purposes. Too bad.

Sensual is more raw, more about arousal and bliss. Romance is about the other person. Romance, as commonly understood, is about trying to make your entire existence together like a dream or a poem, or a cloud. Sensual is about wringing pleasure from whatever your existence throws at you. Romance has little to do with sex when it comes to it (and although sex can be involved, it is never as satisfying as the sensual, because sensual is the expert in those matters).

Romance is either an innocence or a lie. You cannot be romantic unless your heart is unspoiled, you can only fake it. Sensual cannot be ignorant. You cannot be sensual unless something in you is aware, has been awakened, although some people have been known to possess a pre-awakening spark. These people are usually quickly awakened by the nearest bidder.

Romance is candlelight or sunlight. Sensual is pitch black and soaked. Romance is a feather. Sensual is a red scratch blossoming down your chest, across your stomach.

And I read this somewhere. Paraphrased:
Romance is your eyes meeting across a crowded room.
Sensuality is your tongues meeting across a crowded room.

Sorry this isn’t longer. You know it very well could be. It was the best I could muster up under the circumstances.