Billet-doux

My oaken love, my tear duvet, my symbol fair, the blood of
Fey. I dare to love, the wilt of death, the tilt of bane, the veil
Of breath. And tear rosette, expect the flames, to sear the soul,
And strengthen pain. And froward love, the drums of light, the
Strums of kef, the wings of flight. My legend love, to web the
Lark, the ebb of prose, a rose aspark. And etched aflame, the
Face of love, the grace of art, a psychic flood. Thus the
Passion, the quake of tears, the rake of flame, a cultic spear.  
   
My oaken love, my tear duvet, my symbol fair, the blood of
Fey. I dare to fly, to reach the core, to taste the fruit, my heart
Amore. And truss ablaze, the ink of life, the torch of grief, the
Peace of light. My telic love, the sign’s aflare, the owls are
Wise, to deep despair. But depth the soul, a mystic pleat, a
Prudent cave, a wave discreet.