Dearest,

I'm cursed with blessings,

So will you,
Mount a fare with me.

Count the hillside greens,
Breathe the bedside leaves.

I could take you to the mountaintops,
Hang from its rooftops,
Look down to where it could all stop.

You could tell me a tale,
One I'll never sell,
That'll turn my knuckles pale.

I'll be asking you once,
To complete with me a dance,
Probably in France.

Would you like that?
I promise I won't turn you fat, with Paris tarts.
Should we make a pact?

I hope I make you smile,
if not I'll run miles,
Or keep your likings in  files.

I'm aware I sound mad,
Or even a tad bit sad,
But I'll be glad.

To see you one time,
Before my bell chimes,
And I become a still mime.

It's all sudden to you,
Definitely horrifying too,
Wondering from who?

But,

All I dream is a great closure,
Do not feel nausea,
oh my dear, don't,
I've became poseur.

With my love for you.

Yours,
The stranger besotted with you.