My love, tis ill at ease to awaken so lachrymose.

It feels as though my bones may break

under the crushing weight of longing.

I am certain my chest will fracture,

to pierce my knotty heart beneath

as I roll over in my lovelorn bed.

Deeper into a formidable slumber.

One that holds me

so intimately and so coldly

that I might never ask to leave this dark enfold.

To be touched

even by a wistful gloom

is more comfort than I can refuse.

There is much room to grieve

in the snowy arms of lamentation.

For so long as I am willing to hold my breath

while I dream of your breath,

on my neck before a licentious kiss.

A fuggy remembrance of affection lay in abeyance.

Limerance lately holding me so tightly,

I can't form a collectable thought

except for this.

It's you.

Driving amorant feelings into my soul,

one thrust of your aphonic dagger at a time.

My heart whispers conflict with the object of love.

What is this chaos you've left in your hollowed place?

Limerance lately feeling

less like love and more like hate.