My love for him is fire.

And I have been scorched by my own flame.

What was once mere desire,

Is now requisite; without him I’m not sane.

His name alone is my very weakness.

I called it once as I slept.

Though my love for him is no secret,

You’d be breathless if you’d swam its depth.

He and I have something naïve.

And like any rose, it has its thorns.

When pricked I may wish to leave,

But to his soul my soul I have sworn.

Many a time I have attempted to remain cautious,

But head first into love I have leapt.

Although at times his voice alone is obnoxious,

In pieces I would be if he left.

It is him and no-one else my eyes savor,

Yet it is him my heart now knows to blame.

So I ask of someone a small favor,

For my sake, diminish this flame.