What medicine I do of love malaise?
Is this the world I deserve without you?
A year of two seasons served on a platter
Of sun sufferings in the open
When all live in pursuit of golden fleece
What wings I have got are forbidden
In yearning of flying season
I have cloaked this flourish of paper
Which escapes my hold of pen and ink
What about you?
Knowing I suffer in the sun storm of your love