Quote to Me Your Love...

Quote to me a sonnet of your love, or I die.

Sing to me a song from your lips,

Making jealous the Angels created for such eternal expressions, or I perish.

Let our hands touch as no other hands have ever touched.

Let our lips kiss and awaken the jealousies of centuries’ gone lovers.

Songs lose all melody and tone when we are apart.

Flowers don’t bloom; and the sky becomes cloud drawn,

As though they are a blanket of dirt over my coffin blotting out the sun.

Don’t deny me your sonnets or songs; don’t withhold your touches or kisses.

I swear I shall die in misery without them; cause me not to grieve to my grave.

Give me your gaze and look upon me with your love,

Or strike blind my eyes for they become useless

and want only to behold their love.

Sing to me songs of love so that I may hear them,

And know your heart beats for me as does mine for you.

I cannot bear not knowing;

Reassure me again with your kisses,

And rest my heart from its worries.