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So madden me with your charms,
For mortals are not meant for this:
I am no ordinary lover within your arms;
No ordinary love then longer exists,

And so I flock, as moth to flame:
To siren's voice, to Paris' bane -
To fall (though the gates of Troy shall rock),
Caring little for what cost -

Into those eyes of velvet, chocolate brown,
The hue of earth, of wood and oakland crown:
Majesty of my heart, tyrant of the same,
How could it be wrong to love
The way you say my name?

Right no longer matters if you matter more -
Night no longer care for me, if I care for more:
For, sleep abandoned and despised, I linger
Craving, over others, the touch of your little finger,

Your dainty smile, the little laugh you shelter
Amidst those dimples stretching, for winter
Is far from these springs of youth,
This tide of melody - passion, vigorous, uncouth

Hovering in the air - this is what it is
To live: lip locked, arms embraced, a kiss
On cheeks and forbidden places sealing
Memories that memory is forever stealing,
Beyond walls that matter little
So long that you are here.

So let me burn, as moths must always -
This is the price we pay
For choosing our ways -
And though we suffer, we are comforted more
For what flame is greater
Than the flame that burns
Forever more?

Your love is like an ocean,
from here infinite and full of self-
expanding dunes, the terse folds of
fabric, half-covering your
light from the outside. My
love is the sun that sets,
reflecting on the westward-facing waves
that came up and rested
like the anxious minds
we brought to meet each other. In your
eyes I sought confession, and rains,
that enveloped the lands, cleared
away at a signal. The seagull
was speaking from the rocks, looking
eastward, at the lowering waters,
and the rising sun.

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