I promise you this, lil Cupid, by your quivers, I woe not if the arrow injures, my heart seared, ruined by
such wound: however remote the years soon
to pass or that which came, never a lass by any name could rightly be aware the stain nor such feasting on my hearths flame by gluttonous Love, a heart in chains; and do consider the purity born from martyrdom. That which cures and calms the feeling of agony, to the point it be hardly ever felt, a mere hinting at pain dealt in only the slightest degree. No! That which tortures my one and only spirit and body, just that fear is what truly is the dismay heralding my imminent decease and decay: for my fierce fire may be but the only flame which burns so in this cold and cruel world I tread all alone as it turns, in confused hopefulness I yearn to see you deliver -and impatiently I lie awake at night waiting for her.

Place you in the netherplace
An internal nudge to nowhere
Where the line of your smile hurts less
Than a break;
More a persistent ache or
A fading bruise.
In absence,
The presence is still there…
I can still smell the summer on your skin
Catch traces in the steps I’ve taken
To keep the span of the earth between.

In a faraway place, his grave
Resides on a hill by the wave;
Inland of the sea he lies alone,
Seeking sun. His name in stone,
Carved deep to resist age & decay.
The years pass so quickly away,
So his grave is long forgotten now,
The visitors all have passed & how;
And the birds have become so rare
In their passing steps by him there.

Ripen into my lover, O Dear!
And seek the primrose path,
One placed in a field so near,
Mountains covered with grass.

Do not let go the will you need
To push your petals wide ope,
Break the chains and be freed,
Not rest within the binding coat.

I will tend to you at morning,
I will tend to you at eventide,
Just promise me you're​ turning
Into the love I need deep inside.