Love is kind,
fruit of the mind.
Lives more than nine,
Stronger each time

Staining my lines,
Sweeter than pines,
making you unwind,
obliviously blind,

hearing only the chime,
of your hearts as you lyme,
until when you find,
fickle and fine,

in one perfectly aged wine,
then taste sip and refine,
for it will be mine.