In many memories I do recall the words “We’re in love, love inspite of all.”
Isn’t this supposed to occur now?
When will this gift be bestowed upon me?
Though I am but young, love it not seen through age.
In many memories, I do recall, scenic cinemas of passion and lust, which seem to be so consummate that it appears to be fabled and fictitious.
When doth this enchantful life befall upon me and my steadfast love?
Our name, our ways, seem to be scuttlebutted.
Most do the effortless thing and depart, though not at will, but through stature and reputation.
This is not true desire; can’t we go forth through the scrutinizing eyes and hushed words of criticism?
In many memories, I do recall, affrays of no other, but then the next coming day... or week... we’d be mutually happy again, but in that time may not a false love try to invade on everything we have ever created?
It’ll cause pain and anguish, but you and I are far from peril, this is only another dilemma of love.
Then, your nurturers comprehend that you know not of love, but only of childish charlatan.
Deceiving is most lovers choice when it comes to this conundrum.
It is but fate it seems that will make it last.
Thus now our love is now inflamed, through all these obstacles we have assembled a shield that defends us from the fiery thorns that try to rupture our barrier of affection.
In many memories, I do recall, that our care for each other is immodest.
It is now that everyone fathoms, but really they have no conception that our love is whispered through the leaves, sang across the watered rocks, is danced from the dew of a beauteous rose, and seen through a young infants smile.
We have what most desire more than anything.
In many memories I do recall, that we are in love, love inspite of all.