My knees are weak.
My tongue is dry.
Words I cannot speak
They choke me.
Thoughts overwhelm me.
My heart is on trial.
My blood boils.
I am shaking, and I am cold.
The sun is not with me.
Fingers frostbitten.
My heart beats out of tune.
Thoughts pace without direction.
Am I sick?
No, not stomachache.
Nay, no headache.
This disease comes at a clock
A moment.
A period.
An appearance.
Only when she is present.
The maiden.
Sick she makes me.
This feeling as if butterflies were left to lay eggs in me
I loved it before, yes, but this
This is not the same.
A weakness within my cold heart
A solid rock heart with a soft spot in it
I am yet to know her.
Yet she resides deep within the chamber of my heart.