Dear lovers of poets,

Dear soul, you have been cursed

You have been blessed,

For you have found the quickest burning lover yet

Burning quickly like a flame, too scalding

But lasting too little,

Oh poor young soul, you shall become immortal

You will be undying

Timeless will your kisses be, dotted by the black of my ink

Enduring shall your words lie

Smothered in notebooks burdened with past

Immortal you will become,

As your skin grows old and fragile like ice over a lake,

Will your youth aspire to many,

Not yet born,

I have writen you down now,

Veins running on your forearms,

Curly hair and all,

You are now eternal,