It was cold pre-summer  
when thy weather was cursing your pores
and every inch of clock's light
intensifies thine one's sores.

Sight by sight, attempting to make
bite Athena and Hera's rave.
Even if reality likes pace of cake.
The dawn crawls, knocking your only core.

Are you still attached,Soul?
Reminding, relieving this halt so rough?
Are you sure by tonight young foul?
Sin bites, it hurts like cough.

So today, let me whisper you.
Another Eros might enlighten thy coo.