Oh, I love you, honey,
your sweet nectar voice.
The way you ensnare me
with empty words,
and interweave me,
with warm suffocation.
You are venomous,
and I am dying,
but why does it feel
so much like paradise?
— Y.H.
Moribund,
gentle fervor.
you are you,
and I adore you,
even if this is a delusion.
(c) Y.H.