She

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He doesn't love her-at least that's his lie,
But her tears make his heart twist and sigh.
When she smiles, the world's gardens awake,
Each petal unfolds, for her sake.

Her anger ignites a fire in his
veins,
A playful urge he can't
restrain.
He lives for the storm in her fiery gaze,
His mind set ablaze in a hundred ways.

Yet when she talks to another
man,
Jealousy grips him with a violent hand.
His fists itch, his thoughts turn
wild,
Wishing to guard her, fiercely, like a child.

Her pearl-like eyes, when they fall on him,
Make his world brighter, where hope isn't dim.
In that gaze, he sees the divine-
A piece of heaven, impossibly mine.

No, it's not love-it's something more,
An obsession that reaches to his
core.
She's his joy, his torment, his deepest need,
The one who makes his heart
bleed.

She's his comfort, his chaos, his guiding flame,
His reason to feel, to lose, to claim.
She's his heaven, his hell, his boundless skies,
The one who owns him, without goodbyes.

She's the storm that calms his restless mind,
And the only peace he ever hopes to find.
More than love, she's carved into his soul,
An obsession that makes him
whole.

She's everything-his dream, his fate, his desire,
A wildfire that burns, never
to expire.
Bound to her, in an unbreakable chain,
He'll hold her close, through sunshine and rain.

For he she is his-through passion and strife,
His heaven, his hell, the meaning of his life.

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