I.
Love has envenomed me as if strychnine,
yet I always sip it's luminous goblet,
it's lustorous shell, oh so argentine.
As I lift it's toxins to my lip,
I embrace myself for the journey,
and ready myself for the trip.

Oh, and how it conquers me,
runs rampant like a forest banshee,
and shreiks of the imminent gurantee,
that love will soon be lost,
Yet the poison still embossed,
upon my very core.
Until I find this antidote,
so as my heart and toxins
may slip from rapport.

II.
That this infatuation may subside
within the residues of reason.
Yet will heart and soul collide,
or simply commit themselves to treason?
That I may sip this counterpoison,
so that this everlasting yearning,
shall once become adhesion.
Let not your mind to spurning.
So your centre may be lead to turning.

That was this gaze into empyrean,
that you turn your eyes towards I.
May that single gaze by cytherean,
that one little gaze will
turn your psyche awry.