At the touch of love most become poets , twisting the spines of fairytales and reciting the tortures of our past loves . Burning the words of caution and leading blindly into the oblivion of its touch. Feeding on its illusive state of mind , abandoning our being . At the touch of love most become painters , reminiscing each curve of their lovers breath in each stroke they lay on the canvas, painting a love only they could understand. At the touch of love most become singers , finding hidden notes in the crevices of their teeth , burning memories in each melody . At the touch of love most become martyr's , kneeling at the ponds of their lovers tears , swearing oath to the beat of their heart . At the touch of love most become sunsets , so far yet so close , burning at the scars they shared . Yearning for an eternity where dusk doesn't burn at their feet . At the touch of love most become lovers , dancing at the tune of their forever , watching as the rest sulk at a rhythm they do not know . At the touch of love at I become stagnant , unwilling to move from this feeling of euphoria , swelling at the thought of it ending. At the touch of love I become a question, riddling my young with doubt , and questions of my deserving. Till I had eventually let love lays it's touch on everyone but me