Write when you’re drunk; edit when you’re sober: Ernest Hemingway.

Quite earnestly, by all means Hemingway,

On a spirited high,

Thinking of LOVE from head to toe,

Filled with woes of a week-long separation

Post some intense human touch.

Whatever happened after that?

Reason still undecipherable.

Love, not in its melodramatic sense,

September whence it all began

Bloody hell

Realization dawned, screaming that this is it

This is Love!

Fall in love; one did not want to,

For falling could mean hurt,

Regardless, let’s call it stepped into love zone

Taken a full dip now

Nothing asphyxiating,

Only joyous,

Yet painful,

Love, respond

This is with tears and some spirit

Warmest embrace and the longest of kisses

Shall remain, she shall contain

Until love returned, for whatever reason he remained oblivious!