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Clueless and innocent one, Pure as white accompanied by a queer wind with the heat of the sun. Of all the picturesque flowers inside the room, I chose you in the distinct chattery of the afternoon, My shaky hands become sweaty, Proud enough that he knows he chose the right one surely. From cloudy to sunny days, I left myself in vivid pareidolia where everything's nothing but your face. I even found myself in deep with my lower lip, Slowly touching and kissing my lonely fingertip, Your buds and reds are so elite, For two weeks my subtle heartbeat still can't resist it. I sometimes ask myself what's happening to me, I'm just a fragile dandelion underneath an oak tree. With just one flying kiss of yours My pieces and florets were left flying in the air for hours. At the end of the day, I still managed to pick them all up and have chosen to stay. Even though I know, You'll prick me the way Cupid shot my heart with his bow. I picked you even though I know you have a great thorn, And I will never regret this inevitable greatness of forlorn.
