I target I aim
I hold you
Responsible.
For this smile
It's you I blame.
My heart skips,
My voice stutters,
My eyes grow large,
My hands sweat,
But yet this is no illness from which I suffer;
This is love.
Beauty abounds in his eyes,
As he turns he brands-
You- with his stare he makes your soul flee and fly!
To the prison of his hands.
