|Sonnet 16|

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More powerful then the touch of death,

for when She passes by She stops my breath.

As if She’s an angel in disguise who

arrived beyond the skies.

Maybe the Devil himself whose beauty is nothing to describe,

yet I feel no energy such a negative vibe.

Take me to the place you are heading.

Her hair blows with the wind,

just looking at her I already committed sin.

She is the rose whose thorns prick me at my skin,

guess my love for her won’t even go thin.

IS this what LOVE feels like to be up so late,

to wonder if it is fate.

Because I’m already in that state.