Distance does not make the heart grow fonder.
Having conquered the empire of my subconscious,
Your crusade so short,
Yet I hope your reign continues for eons.
Far past passive flatteries, instead,
We fill each other’s hearts with vows.
His arrow is too far lodged within me,
I cannot remove it.
I can only push it farther and farther
Into my heart until it falls out of my back.
But his arrow, trenchant.
Who draws his bow for the pure love of marksmanship;
His subjects are often punctured,
And connected to one whom was Fate’s desire reciprocated.
For by you, I’ve been so divinely seduced.
Wooed by your lips, by the music
Which your mandibles so express.
But he is an impostor, a spy of Agony himself.
