What better a vice which compels thee to write,
Than the curse of an unrequited love?
A blight cast upon by great Venus
To an unsuspecting heart like mine.
Sappho once said the most beautiful is what one loves most,
Why is it that the object of my affections is a superlative beauty unattainable?
I devote all my efforts to thee aimlessly,
How cruel Venus must be
How is it that a poet such as I begin to stammer when thou art nearby?
I choke on my words like flowers, its vines tangling in my heart
Suffocating as ever, driving me to madness,
A bittersweet agony, hope like a fading light
Oh Venus, why is it that this infatuation ails me?
Though a scholar, a poet, I cannot fathom nor comprehend
Why I have turned to be a lovesick fool
A sensation so raw, foreign, and vexing, a pain never wavering
How I long for the taste of thy forbidden fruit,
To taste thy sweetness on my tongue,
How I yearn to caress thee gently,
To be by thy side for all eternity
Thy divine eyes hold entire galaxies,
Thy smile, brighter than the sun,
Thy bright mind, a perfection indescribable,
for such perfection is beyond eloquence
And yet still it is he who hast claimed possession of thy heart,
despite my ardent devotion.
And yet it is he who holds thee in his arms
How I wish that I was he.
I can only behold thee from afar
The pallor of thy face
Thy bliss upon seeing his
As I retreat once again to the shadows of twilight.
Oh, Venus, I implore thee,
To purge this blight from my soul.
Whether or not I may love again shan't be a concern,
For I'd rather die than shatter sanity from a love unreturned and untold.