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Gray one poem, Black one poem or all one poem, madness in the mixing
Oh, how cliche, to yearn and pine (Oh, how cliche)
To linger awkwardly, toe the line, (to moan and whine)
When words, breath and thoughts combine (to bury deep)
I am swooning, clutching chest (this truth I find)
Oh, what the fool I seem to be (Oh taste of muse)
To duck and dodge, to turn and flee (and smells of pine)
yet still I sigh impatiently, (Like fingertips inside my mind)
{waiting for auras to collide} {Ensnares thoughts unknowingly}
Though I admit I to wish to kiss (Hesitate, struggle, resist)
Delicate brows and dewy lips (It buds at the root of play and jest)
Better to take to pen than to transgress (Feigning false indifference)?
and rush like wind to folly (Shows how deeply one is ruled)
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