Tales of Love

I love a girl, And it’s my choice, the doctor says, That my heart is confused. Sometimes fast Like the racing horses, Others sluggish Like the story of an African orator, I said I’m sick Yet none sees, None comforts me, The farther my heart went into her The sicker I am. I can’t live her without, She takes away the oxygen around me, She takes with her keys to my joy, Alone in yonder land She enjoys owning the good created in me. Like the bedroom who is never good without the host I’m become vain without my love, Now have I known That love is a sickness Cured by getting more sick.