This love is so fair, check my tongue in this fair.
Maybe fare even better than those who chose neither.
Said love me or like me, despise me for I feel
our love is too good for us two to just keep it.
The sycamore trees grow taller; recall
that you hate me in phrases but love me in soul.
That cowl that protects you from cutthroats and crows
does vanish when I'm the one to hold you close.
Grabe, you're lying to yourself. That sin is a wealth.
That tongue could sell for millions as felt
for liers, and don't try to hide under hide
of your past, I know well that you can't leave me--tama ba?
Oh, Abbie--oo, Abbie-- thanks for Sycamore alley
where we may stay happy, and tarry for e'ry
long, pasty, tall, gangly "respecting" young men;
let's laugh for we know whom our love's meant for, ma'am.
Diba?
YOU ARE READING
Mahal-lika!
PoetryIs love just a a collection of feelings for one? Is it just a sweet section of chocolate for one? Hearken! My heart beats faster, the box shakes stronger -- Mahal-lika! Let us tell their stories of love divine, their love full of sin!
