“I loved you as Icarus loved the sun, too close, too much.”

If this should end in fire come, fill this desire.

It is not the world I fear but what becomes of me; when you disappear so understand it is you I cannot sacrifice with you in my life-I’ll suffice.

If you are a painter my love, then I will be your writer.

Tell me about the city you grew up in, how you like to take your tea let me see the world through your eyes; be the muse to my literacy.

In the cold you left me, that is how my love for you came to be.

You shall have all that is in this garden.

I want a love that meets me half way. A love filled with chivalry as if it were written in old days.

Who am I to write about love when I don’t know the very definition of it, It seems, love itself does not favor me.

In each passing day, I hope I love you less but somehow this love stays and my heart is yours nonetheless.

If I can have what I want then I’d have the stars the moon, the skies and a love where it shines through your eyes.

This spring along with flowers, I hope you bloom as my love has, one season too soon.

For the rest of my life I will stay by his side. A union this world could never divide.

In my heart where I’ve built a wall, you grew loving vines in my days of doubts and gray clouds, you said; “in my eyes, darling you shine” Maybe you loved me then but I know, I loved you too late.

In your song let me be the words & in two we don’t have to sing in thirds.

Come & see how my heart came to be it is bare for you to see as proof these poems are the tangible forms of my heart.

You said I was sunshine breaking shadows into your night.

Love would never be a promise of a rose garden unless it is showered with a light of faith, water of sincerity, and an art of passion.

I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend.

You’re love is nothing I can’t fight. Can’t sleep with a man who dims my shine.

Love is an ideal thing, marriage a real thing.

Few, I believe, have had much affection for mankind, who did not first love their parents, their brothers, sisters, and even the domestic brutes, whom they first played with.

You will never find what you are looking for in love, if you don’t love yourself.

Love does not dominate; it cultivates.

We must all be in love once in our lives.