Fickle

How many years—a fusion of dreams? The fire—such a flame,

A magnet heart. And so fickle—my temperament. For love,

A fickle swing. But fair intension, a fusion of dreams. Thus

Forgive, a jealous flare, my love. And censure not, such

Suspicious waves. The line—so thin, to fathom spirit. And

Madness, a fusion of flames. Thus, a fickle slant; and thus, a

Skewed ache. And such aesthetic, a fleet of prose; and such

Confusion, to love blindly. My balance, a rippled sea: my love,

A fervent kiln; thus the dreams, a fickle swing. Indeed, a

Manic love, soars the psyche—a realm of ghosts. And so

Insistent—a stern nightmare; and so insistent, a sagic view.

Thus, the madness; and thus, the yen—a storm of vague

Intensions. For such the fickle—the plight of love; and thus

The fickle—the rites of love.