I still crave the flavour of your skin, though it brings me great pain,  
As the flames of desire flicker and sway, we’ll endeavour to endure,  
Clinging tightly beneath the blazing sun, in summer's fierce allure,  
Together, trying to brave the tempests, in love's unyielding pursuit.  

Dinner awaits us at eight – do not tarry; dreams lie upon your plate,  
Nourished by my affection, a sip of your soft skin grazes my lips;  
Each touch of yours leaves me lost, grappling with how to respond –  
Your wisdom eclipses my own, a realm I can scarcely comprehend.  
No man has truly kissed every maiden under the sun, yet the world  
Shrinks for those who cross paths with the echoes of their past flames.  
Relative justice; I strive to connect, yet potential lovers have slipped  
Through my fingers, leaving me a solitary figure, comforted by a hand.  

And this fills me with grief, a tempest of shame; distanced by anguish,  
Haunted by choices that replay like relentless echoes in my mind.  
I dread living solely for another's affection, yet I fear even more  
The withering of my own love, fading into the abyss of neglect.

Thus, I have come to understand the worth of inadequacy –
my accuracy that targets the essence of your heart, is obscured
by my vision, ensnared by your eyes. You elevate my lows to
astonishing heights, tormenting me with your kisses, for we
never get to kiss twice.

It’s always one of those quick goodbyes; "I’ll see you in another
life," as if you’re untroubled by the thought of a reason to die.
Yet, won’t we all meet our end eventually? Some days, I wish
for a gentle passing for my weary soul.

And your eyes – don’t they seem to possess an awareness of
their own reflection? Your beauty is a weapon, silencing my
tongue, rendering me unable to articulate in words. Paralyzed;
I am numb in place; I can't look away from your eyes.

So numb in love...

This soft heart I say, can feel like a curse,  
For all the times it soaks up the hate, oh, how it hurts!
As with each tear that I shed,  
It all feels heavy, heavy like lead,  
Till the floodgates burst forth in a verse.  

And I must tell you,

A soft heart is like a sponge, it takes every cut,  
An open heart: a vibrant marketplace; so never to shut!
But it was once vibrant and bright,  
Now it feels so dilapidated from fight,  
Yet still it beats on, as a true work of art.

My ears catch the hush of the stream,
A red balloon floats in my dream;
With worries that swell,
I count breaths as well,
Afraid of love's tender gleam.

Now my gaze drifts away from the ground,
As my heart finds a rhythm profound;
In this flight up high,
With the clouds I will fly,
In a world where true love can be found.

Joyful jackets – wrap me in warmth, shielding me
from being worn out by life; my upside-down smile
has flipped.

Those puffy cheeks of the girl I kiss, radiating heat;
makes me feel even warmer – just like a cosy puffy
jacket.

A love my soul knows it could never claim,  
A heart that I still long for, yet it feels no flame.  
Though I wished them to be,  
They will never be the one for me,  
But in solitude, I whisper their name.  

A heart full of its own shame, I can only weep,  
Tears shared for a love that I long for, but can't keep.  
So, with tears lost in my eyes,  
I gaze at her beauty, as it lies,  
But in solitude's arms, is where I sleep.  

A love that’s vast as the sea,
Yet good men to her are scarce, you see!

I sail by her side, I stand as a mate,  
In daylight, we share laughs, it's great!  
But when night starts to fall,  
I weep, feeling small,  
For a love that I cannot create.

Steal a whisper from the breeze – wipe your shoes at the threshold
of Father Time; the embrace of Mother Nature bosoms over my gaze,
nourishing me with the vivid picture of life yearning for sustenance.
As a wailing child, wrap me in the blanket of my dreams; my sheets
stained with yellow – don’t label me as yellow, for I despise
being ******.

Capture a flair in a brushstroke – the delicate arch of an eyebrow,
lifted at the sight of the Cross; “I still ponder how,” they criticized the
woman who dried His feet with her hair – she must have been bold.
Now, resting at the foot of the Cross; I must be wise to take down
those footnotes.

Lend a smile from a tear – grinning through the pain, the ache of
existence is merely this relentless cycle within the machinery of time.
A lavish timepiece; cherish all that you have at hand; and arm your resolve to fulfil His Will.