Corrupted is your angelic frame,
overpowered by my demonic spells.
How chastity I may no longer claim,
beyond the norms of this worldly hell.
Illusions of a self in divine grandeur,
benevolence beyond the cosmic chart.
Yet when of that you innocently murmur,
glaciers ambuscade my quivering heart.
Through the seasons we tread,
assuming an evergreen shed.
When the leaves inspire awe,
is when they begin to fall.
Doubt not of thyself, my dear,
for thy beauty hath mine eyes ensnared,
thus I shall be thy loyal servant.
Doubt not of thyself, princess,
for thy beauty rests in thy spirit most bare;
the zest of my heart is most fervent.
Doubt not of thyself, my angel,
for thy cherished self is thy truest self,
hence our undraped forms intertwine.
Doubt not of my heart, my love,
more doubts encircle my existential air!
O our union shall be beyond divine!
Incandescent eyes my secrets reveal;
wandering child they see past your veil.
In shadows I await for the arrival of dusk,
Luna signals our escape from your cask.
Let me be your freedom and your light,
beginning our most paradisal flight.
Embers trail our noble polonaise,
tyrants I shall slay with my glaring gaze.
Have faith in our most determined quest,
eternity I enclose in my palatial chest.
Reverberating beyond the mortal chart,
eves shall adorn our harmonious art.
In a haunting aria my desires overflow,
mirroring ballrooms my yearnings hold.
I think of your presence in my cold lone hours,
serenading my fancy with your delicate flowers.
Solitude I will bear if only for your sake,
your wings shall not be chained by my fate.
O! My dearest love, please confide in my art,
unfading will ever be my most fervent heart!
Sleepless nights forbade my rest,
anxiously I ponder at my desk;
chaotic streams disrupt my mind,
my heart trembles in a cage confined.
No force of will may stop my thoughts,
on our stories in my fantastical plots;
O my dearest love, when shall we unite?
Save my soul from my defenceless hide.
You gave me hope from my darkest despair.
My angel! My life you alone shall fare.
Upon you I wish no glooming clouds,
yet how can I bury my most ardent sprouts?
Love intoxicates me,
all joys and tears are vast like the sea.
O how I feel life’s call,
yet why cannot I read in an empty hall?
My heart rolls like a drum,
she anticipates the mysteries to come.
I now the cause of my restless reads,
for even to stare at your face would my angst appease.
I sing in ecstacy,
your scent still befuddles me.
My dearest little daisy,
for you the rest of my life to be.
Will my two foes come to terms at last?
Melancholy and joy fused by this craft.
A piece beyond the power of my will,
sleepless am I yet with life and thrill!
Is this a hex from that mystical spell?
I thought romance isn’t my place to dwell.
Yet how alive I feel! Never before!
Your every essence I devoutly adore.
O my dear sadness, where art thou?
How may I pen this without your vow?
Love ceases all my flourishing words,
and spring has crippled my artful slurs.
Am I intoxicated? Aren’t I bewitched?
With certainty I sense my heart being twitched.
This glass of port, my hopeful gaze,
Yet I cannot penetrate my thoughtful haze.
O my dearest friend! O my earthly heart!
How shall I explore this misty park?
My beauty brews out of the darkest despair,
So dearest, please forgive my notes so bare.
The curse of freedom I do not evade,
yet how my fears still haunt my fate.
Though I have learned to embrace the dice,
Still I am stunned by the blinding lights.
O what else for me would bear any colour,
now that you have appeared in my parlour?
Thus must I with certitude fall,
into your beauty behind a velvet wall?
The finale resolves with a perfect cadence,
no more shall I wander about my frosty fence.
What beauty of life may my story bear,
if not with you shared for my mortal years?
No sooner arrives this reflective letter,
by the playful breeze of the wintry airs,
by a theme on Scriabin my sensuous ardour,
entwining and fondling my lover’s tears.
Her voice summons a past abandoned,
voluptuous songs from a greyed limbo;
a waltzing devil in the garden of heaven,
a page reminiscent of his nameless foe.
No souls were cast from his tender embrace,
how can he forget his prophetical easel?
No doubt an orbit marks a familiar trace,
he stood long alone beyond good and evil.
Vexed by my unworldly being,
how frail are the grounds on which I stand.
Yet are they not save my dispersed ink?
With a glass of ruby I dream in the sand.
