Should I compare you to a winter night?
Jet black is the color of your heart
and temperature is of ice.
Sweet side is a dormant like bats in the day time.
Anger is active like the mind of Jesus Christ, in 1st century’s time.
Was once sweet like brown sugar, I lost belief in my taste receptor.
Though vinegar is salubrious for the skin of your face,
the quality of your personality is no longer invigorating,
like leftovers in the fridge for days.
The morning mist is your innocence fading.
So much more brutal than a winter evening.
Russia is no longer in competition with your heart.
Hardened like the pharaoh, can’t tell you and the serpent apart.
Stab my flesh with something sharp like claws of wolverine.
My belief towards you is of shark meat.
Positive thoughts devoured, cleansed away like germs in the shower.