and bewitched by your charms,
this state of grace is no less than
enchantment, sacred and sublime.
If love is affliction or addiction
I am not ashamed to call myself
afflicted by, and addicted to you.
If love is malaise and malady,
I do not hesitate to stand atop
the highest hill and bellow to
sky above and valley below:
"Be you by my side or kept apart
by miles of red tape, I am gladly
lovesick for want of this man, you."
If cynics call love a poison draft,
I know of love as a welcome elixir.
And if loving you is wrong, I wear
my wrong-doing like a badge of honor.
And if love is a fatal flaw of the flesh
and of the mind of humankind,
then I am fated to die a happy man.
Preferably, a very long, very slow
passing on, incessantly bombarded
by wet kisses, rollicking embraces
and the myriad of your endearments.
If loving you too much is a foible or
a farce, then carve on my tombstone:
Here lies an unrepentant man of excess.