Pour on me the might of your love;
pour on me the essence of your beauty.
Pour on me the wonder of having you;
because without your presence I am much ado.
And you may ask me why,
to which I've no answer: none.
For love has no reason,
to corrupt its' own fun.
And love has no reason,
to grace its' presence in mine.
As love has no reason,
to graze me at such a point in time.
But love is a crazy lover,
who almost never chooses right.
Who dances and prances,
in order to visualize its' might.
So therefore I present to you myself;
a flower on your forgotten shelf.
An identity as your crazy lover,
who promises to be anything but a bother.
So let us dance and let me prove my love,
let the flakes clash against the skies above.
Because alas you are beauteous worth,
and I was made to love you since birth.
YOU ARE READING
Poesy of Eloquence
Poetry❝ this tragedy is soaked with tears that dry the ink in my hands. ❞ ━ the poesy I've yearned to release ever since I taught myself to pick up the pen and write. ❝ for if the painting of my words be the garden upon the gate of heaven, glimpse them...
