Treasure Island

Reyvrex Questor Reyes


A Doctor To His Love


Love is a malady of which I'm sick
Now very chronic and getting acute
Feel my neck, phone another doctor quick
Your touch could make my aches to joy transmute

Now press upon my breast your stethoscope
You'll know how so irregular I breathe
It is not due to some Asthma, I hope
That when you're near I hyperventilate

And oftentimes, I'd steal a kiss from you
So sweet, addictive, that I am afraid
Too much sugar makes diabetes due
But I feared most: my fault, you might upbraid

Now feel my quickened pulse; is there a cure?
Aside from pills and that magnetic band?
It's symptomatic of my love so pure
'Adrenalin rush' when you held my hand

I should be confined now, I'm pretty sure
Before my ailment would have reached stage two
You choose a place which we can now procure
Ward or ICU so I can be with you.

Submitted: Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Edited: Wednesday, January 22, 2014
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