Attractive roses,
mere things yet the thoughts.
Slowly he descends,
embracing your heart.
Speechless at his gaze.
Your face, he adores.
A pang of remorse,
as pleasure consumes.
Never can you have,
a love that is pure.
Never can you look,
at a lover’s soul.
Such sincerity,
pity to let go.
He deserves the best,
the love of his own.
Alas go on tell,
before he falls more.
Your devoted heart,
not free anymore!
Copyright *Phoenix Montoya @ September 18, 2010
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