Love Rhythm

I may embark on the infatuation that mine eyes have been infected with

Thy beauty lies heavily in thine breast. Thy face is a masterpiece... Picasso is no match

Thy eyes: A pool of golden honey with emerald beams

Let me not speak of thy face for my heart doth race

It runs and rolls and twists and turns and stops.

Better yet listen, the wind of spring does call thy name

It whirls and whips yet sings and sooths.

When will thy let these lips first touch?

Such accounts shall shake and shiver the very grounds

of heaven and the fire that fuels this passion shall dwarf that of hell.

Need not these words to rhyme

for it is our hearts that do such acts,

yet for if it be the case that yee so mind,

then here be a rhyme to do just that.