Thou ar’t sick love,
beating, bleeding, and bruised
you lose but gain; all the same.

Like the dying rose,
you were picked for
my amusement.

You are my cure,
my blooming inspiration,
you consumed my whimpering
dreams, with your waves of
admiration.

You brought doom to my door,
a heavy knock reminding me
you are still here beside me.

Sadly you are sick (my love),
you leave me with your
infections and scares,
you managed to sit beside me
capturing my heart with your
spiders web of luring gloom,
with soft touches of blooming
passion.

Sick love made its home
within the chambers of my life,
it left its mark forever
upon my heart.

Sick love looms over my head
blocking the sun from burning
my heart, once again.

Sweet love, oh how I miss your
touches and kiss.

© 2018 By Amanda D Shelton