Love, come hither

Ballet me a poem, my love,

Sing me an opera.

Indeed, manipulate the piano of my soul,

For I’m a fantast, cleaving to a dream.

You possess the flare of Marlyn Monroe:

So provocative, alluring, and picturesque.

And you possess the stature of a goddess:

So mystique, mystical, and divine.

I’m impatient to decode the arithmetic of

Love, to muse upon the cryptic message of

Amore, for I’m trekking through the

Mountain, thirsting for the rhythm of, my

Amore. Leave me not to tiptoe upon the

Apparatus of loneliness. Instead, mend my

Leaking spirit. Heal me with the touch of

Your love.