My hands were raw, inflamed from growing hate;

Yellow roses make my psyche bleed glum.

The day I espied you, my heart meet fate:

Amaryllis made my young sweet peas bloom!

My psyche was a sunflower for you,

Gaping for tender and mellow love rays.

Are seasons weren't meant to grow fir bamboo?

You were an ample Bagikan, a maize.

I, Bellbine, that yens a slick Gardenia;

You, white orchid, gave me a gleeful niche.

My gore fed the garth sub rosa vias:

     The beam you made when you spotted it, rich.

     My lips hurt like thorns on beating heart drums!