Love is often portrayed in twos,Two wandering souls whose paths are merged,Blessed by the hands of fate.A lone wanderer will be misplaced,Too trivial to be given the attention that will sprout songs in their name.Yet, it seems to me the greatest stuff for bedtime tales;A warrior who had no one keeping the candle on,Gazing out the window awaiting their return.One whose only companion was the echo of their heartbeat,Who faced a blazing desert and turned it to a rainforest with nothing but their tears.
I'm at war with love and all the things it should be,All the standards I lifted from well sprung fairytales and failed to imprint on the maps of life.I've stained my hand with pretty paint and received a gruesome picture,So I've taken to sulking at the mishap,Because, no one warned me how messy love will be.
When I behold a forest spreadWith silken trees upon thy head;And when I see that other dressOf flowers set in comeliness;When I behold another graceIn the ascent of curious lace,Which, like a pinnacle, doth shewThe top, and the top-gallant too;Then, when I see thy tresses boundInto an oval, square, or round,And knit in knots far more than I.Can tell by tongue, or True-love tie;Next, when those lawny films I seePlay with a wild civility;And all those airy silks to flow,
Sweet serene sky-like flower,Haste to adorn her bower;From thy long cloudy bedShoot forth thy damask head!New-startled blush of Flora,The grief of pale Aurora,Who will contest no more,Haste, haste to strew her floor!Vermilion ball that's givenFrom lip to lip in heaven,Love's couch's coverlet,Haste, haste to make her bed!Dear offspring of pleased VenusAnd jolly plump Silenus,Haste, haste to deck the hairOf the only sweetly fair!