Saints stole my mind and angels my soul, but only you could steal my heart. For days lose number and weather loses thought while your eyes lay a gaze. Sun and moon celestial thoughts of mine they lost whilst in comparison with thee, for ye are a rose of many colors though texture unchanging. You’re eyes, stars shame be theirs. Whilst with you I need not breathe, couldn’t though I try, you are death in a tiny vile. No feeling, numbness, when you’re around. But yet feeling all the same, untouched by words harsh names, it be as if the petals of ye gentle rose be blown in my chest if by gentle wind. Then word’s name comes to mind as rose never assemble. Love, may be to me.