Love is a disease,
you've seen the signs.
Sweaty palms,
Shaky hands,
your heart skipping
just about every beat,
With this frost
stuck in your head,
making it hard
to stand on your feet.

When you beg for your pen
to draw a scene
of the waves set aflame,
all that comes back to you
is the apple of your eye,
all you hear is her name.

Deny as you might,
you can't help but to twirl and swoon,
The only thing guiding your nights
are her and the moon.

Yes,
love is a disease,
and I'd love to stay
sick in bed
with you.