𝔹𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕝𝕠𝕧𝕖, 𝕓𝕪 𝕄𝕒𝕣𝕘𝕠

𝗛𝗲𝗿

Your beauty is deceptive,

Your love a cunning lie.

Every word I chase,

With you—I wish to die.

And yet,

Wild horses couldn't pull me back.

When it comes to you

In strength, I lack.

You're a creature,

Of much self-love.

You quite like the attention,

Though you seem pure as a dove.

And maybe I don't care,

Because I like the idea, too

Leave—I would not dare,

After all, isn't this what star crossed lovers do?

Daring,
Margo.