Oh my petite, You're a five-course dinner with the works and a lovesick tantrum. Your affection like a hummingbird, with how it pecks and pecks and pecks. Lips faster than one-sixtieth of a second when you say You don't love me anymore
But darling, I've got a letterbox heart Iron locks and Silver casts Filled with postcards to no address. Open me up and find your name scrawled inside over and over and over.