Love

You destroy this thing succeeding itself by means of isomorphism 
I finely retrace each contour of your face whenever I think of you -unlike another 
The style in which the god-algorithm paved your face destroys me 
Oh lord, have mercy, the whirl-pool of power you fling me into 
-Each time I remember you, honey! 
 
Now sweetheart, 
You know that I think I am crazy; 
That in truth, I am just a nice guy. 
You fairly ask where the fuel is that burns the rubber: 
Statistics say one man -may have a harem, 
Yet write Ecclesiastes and as the wisest man ever -die insane. 
 
I love you sweetheart, 
You know I always will 
And so when some lights turn into darkness 
You know where to turn to.

Your Haunting Beauty