I wouldn't call myself particularly an Amorist,
i am rather ambivalent towards the theory,
and frightened to my core,
devotion can be scary,
for if today you fancy her like a rose,
and watch her slowly bloom as her petals unfold,
but time plays rather peculiar tricks on human soul,
and soon you'll be bleeding against her thorns,
and her face will be all a blur,
like a memory kept too long,
and it's excruciating to let her go,
still you swear each night to do so,
but you see her with your eyes closed,
and you're drunk on her musings,
when the moon performs ,
and you're sitting in the first row.
Don't mystify my words,
in opposition of love,
for it remains the most beautiful feeling,
and to experience it is an honour,
nevertheless i believe,
to love is to let go,
true infatuation is slightly fanciful,
it lingers finer,
in poetry,
and in books.