As a moth to a flame, I am to you.

You engulf me in rhapsodies of joy,

Like a blind lover enchained in your ploy.

You fill my mind when I have much to do

And I procrastinate; in pen I spew

Of fussiness and great feelings of coy

And moments with you I’d wish to enjoy.

These thoughts of you, so constantly accrued:

I’m at war with myself! Seeing your face

Turned away from that of mine is torture.

The distance between: The infinite space

Envelopes me in a morose rapture…

Once I start, I’ll forever continue:

If I count the ways I love you.