I want to lay away your story
Into my eloquent pages so designed.
For I am in no time missing
Each sentence you’ve so led amiss,
No grammatical trickery
To bequeath this budding rose
– Thorny and apical –
In transcendence I have only dreamed.
There, so I shall then pass
And accompany you upon this waltz
Through tapestry written
Upon each lazy leaflet
Dangling it’s feelings
Upon these even walking grounds
Handwritten for our love.