Vine

Ballet my love, aflare the heart, aflame the soul, approach the
Spark. And prune the vine, a web of tares, a perch of plight,
A portrait fair. And whittle  love, my welkin dream, a regal
Wave, a passion scream. For weal  and woe, the wear of
Death, a sagic yearn, the fern of breath. And vox to soul, a
Subtle chime, a sacred voice, a velvet vine. My unction flame,
A feral storm, the womb of love, a florid form. But fountain
Ache, the paint of prose, a phantom prayer, a floral rose. 
 
Ballet my love, aflare the heart, aflame the soul, approach the
Spark. And feed the vine, a solemn pear, a phantom flame, a
Privy tare. For heart to core, the crux of care, a queen adrift,
The rift of flare. And thetic  rites, the roots of pain, the scope
Of love, the blood of rain. For weal and woe, the wear of
Death, a sagic yearn, the fern of breath. 

Whittle: something carved into; to carve into.
Weal: a red swollen welt left after a blow.
Thetic: relating to a set of tenets.