The language, through your eyes,
accents to the meaning behind.
Through your mouths comes
a barrage of sweet poison
solid meanings that're poignant,
ambiguous and perverse.

Upon you I derive
this hard pushed drive
to love you and, upon that,
thrive to the end of the road.
Quenching, on its own,
is knowing you sometimes think of me.
More-blessings wallow steeped
in rusted hearts
that need your sandblsting love.

Your youthful beauty lingers longer
bringing undeclared memories -
not to touch your silky cheek,
not to see the flash of your smile,
not to hear your voice so melodious:
The scourges that deny us
all the Moreblessings to our disposal.
Time never ages our love
it warps our bodies only.