Love is a thing most wretched vile,
hear me now for what I say is true.
A shattered soul, an empty smile
is all that will remain of you.

If Love should be when the birds would sing,
then a crow I must be.
If Love doth joy from the heart forth-bring
then mine is but a lonesome cavity.

If one should drink from that poisoned spring
to prove absurdity,
then one will cling to suffering
for neigh eternity.

Yet know this about Love's bittersweet breath:
If it is pure, it will outlast even death.

The cold is all I've ever known.
My lonely heart is made of frost.
Never has it beaten yet,
not once has it been lost.

The heavy clouds that fills the sky
delivers ice and snow,
and every day I fiercely pray
for winds of spring to blow.

My brittle bones are aching,
longing for her touch.
A smile warmer than the sun
and eyes that shine as such.

She'll set my heart ablaze with love.
She'll kiss me on the lips
and through my body heat will spread
from toes to fingertips.

We stare into each others' eyes,
naked to the bone.
Still fully dressed, though, we know now
we'll never be alone.

Forever will I love her,
my summer buttercup,
and all she has to do
is simply showing up.