Bliss

Those lips.
Of that or of whom I've kissed
Is one of which
Pure
Sweet
Bliss
Those eyes.
Which of whom
Are simply beautius notions
A mellow array
Of honest emotions
Of those that stray
Mixed races.
Worries of failing dreams
Some of few things
Of that of which he chaces
Herbs of the earth.
A shimmering fog of romance
Smoked lies of love
Of those with whom I seemed to have no chance
He completes me.
So they say
A love of which I have never felt
He has already taken it away
So I had hopes.
That of to love him
Though in all my tries
I have met my demise
But in the end.
I will not be there
No kiss,
Of bliss.
No stream,
Of dreams.
Lonely,
Only.
So it seemed.
Left with Lost Love,
One of which shall never be redeemed.