In front of a fruity summer flow,
I sit on the brick-furnished bench
with my feathery ink brush clasped
between my left thumb and index finger
-so lovely jellyfishes dive in the dulcet chorus-
I write to you, not by default,
but by candid confessions sealed in my amygdala.
It has been months n' days
I've stared at your painted picture on my wall,
That magnetic amber iris sparkled on my chest.
I am electrified by your sassy dimples,
Looking at you from the equator,
I can't but fix up to meet you.
I gasp whenever I bump unto your shadow,
The aligned shape of beauty.
Your appearance tickles my veins,
You've rebranded my senses with your aura,
You've...