Infatuation is a sweet infection,
She getting under your skin,
A sweetly itching bug,
Tingling your skin
to make you feel her presence,--
almost continuously,
The heady, rich scent of her memories
rushing in like luscious spring
after snowy, barren, frozen months.
The heart expanded with love,
Blossomed like a flower,--
an orchard where
the scented flowers of her smiles
kissed the dewy diamonds;
where the ripe fruits of her kisses
dangle with the juicy prospects of
sight, touch, taste, delicious smell.
Her absence
weighing with a heavy presence,
Her smile
spreading the message of love and beauty,
You feel walled in,
sheltered, protected, safe,
Like you are in a rock fort
in her mushy, soft, warm embrace,
Separated and segregated
from the chaos of life.
A beautiful prison
where the love-chained prisoner
becomes a canvas for the
unplanned strokes of nature
weaving a magic,
Painting his own lush and vibrant
image of paradise,
Shaping all pains into hope,
All this while, her image
sweetly dodging
across the chaos of his mind.
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