They say I look better with love

But love looks better with us.

Men seeking woman. Woman seeking love.
The entire process is irritatingly fidgety yet consummate.

I know I should be more chary of the chortle everytime you're around.
I shouldn't have let the scruple prowled away.

Thanks KK (the glamorous king) for styling my hair.

The cupidity for love is macabre.

But somehow I got fettered in it, nothing loath.
I can't obviate the faux pas. I don't want to.

OMG the gorgeous queen belly-danced like a snake.

Dusk indulges my squawk whenever I let the whip hustles my elan to a corner.
I writhe in agony.
The timbre of tear should be utterly devoid of love.
But with more valour.

I'm pulling back my heart.
Although it'll end up tearing apart.
This is me. Forcing myself out once I started falling in.
I go for extremity. Just yes or no.

Because the answer is always a NO.
So I shall stop languishing in this voluptuous imagination of mine with a full stop.