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.