Oh how I need to place upon this wayfaring tongue
The truth of limerence through words.
Not the first of hidden, but the first of firsts
Sins at halt to be committed.
For you suffused complexity into my words
With nothing but your absent presence.
And now I have beautifully cursed the boon of your favourite oxymorons
Into these cold watered poesy of mine in your longing.
Forgive me!
Your gushing pieces they watered down the embankments of vexed issues of my life :
Crushing, denying, falling, plunging, all rued affairs
But
Can the cold water like you burn someone?
Is all I beseech
Because musings that became poetries have burnt me before.
And this time it might just severe the case.
Anyways, why do I ask
My dear itinerant lover of imagination.
Come and go, as you please.
Burn me like a steam, if you wish.
For the traces of your wounds
Will only
Refine my words that I wish to write in your longing.
Write down the frisky truth of a much desired reciprocation
Write for the limerence that I hold.
Story