A love letter to no one in particular.

Through darkest days,

And moon-lit skies,

Yeses and no's,

What's, where's, and why's,

I'd brave them all, effused in grace,

If such were the price to see your face.

Mead-honeyed locks, wine lips and blue

curaçao eyes, I drink in you.

As you catch my gaze, mind near entranced,

Freeze-chills blow and fire-flames dance,

Though peers observe in sneering glee,

Wincing wildly for you and me,

One thing is true, for last I've saved:

Our days are numbered on our grave.