Like I would a broken winged bird I will nurture our love until its pureness surpasses the venom of past serpent(s).
I will run to you passed the hurtle that broke my ankle the first time.
I will rhyme for you enough times to make up for poems made for my past.
I will love you in all the right ways, I will not leave room for the future discovery of old mistakes.
Oh my dear, how I will love you.