Cupid Deconstructed

Your beauty
strikes me though my heart,
dear one.

I fall before you,
prostrate.
I am yours.

As I lie,
my head a little sore
from the fall,

I reflect upon my state
and conclude
it is my mind, not my heart

that is pierced.
My head is addled, my heart is full.

Hanque O . . . :
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