I came to you for help, my dear. And had
I known, I would have limped straight out that door.
I couldn’t say that I’m not going mad,
Wanting to simply be with you forevermore.

Yet can you blame this Fool? I saw your face;
At once it burned into my retinae.
The scar you have upon your brow, your grace,
Your perfect mouth, all pointed to up high.

Your form contains seductive tensile strength,
Evinced by posture and the lie of clothes
That almost seem to shimmer on your length
From your shoulders right the way down your toes.

You, you, are belle. Tu es; sans doute, ma chère.
I want, one day, to intertwine your hair,
Without a care, and pray that we have nothing left to say.

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