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With fervor, I speak of you, paramour.
Due to you, I’m comprised of only woe,
Lingering tastes of lust, of days of yore,
Fragments of fervency, and sharp sorrow.
My soul parasitically consumed,
Devoured by ravenous jaws of zeal.
By love’s traitorous hand, I am entombed.
This mangled heart cannot aspire to heal.
Like the wind, oh so fleeting love slithers
Through the breaches of your buoyant fingers,
Lost too quickly, leading one to dither,
For how long will this baleful hurt linger?
And so I conclude, blighted by this bane,
Your abrupt love was never worth this pain.