Ah! Thine Grasp Do I Fear Losing...

In the midst of thine love, was I so drowned in the perspectives thou had yet, did I not perish in that water me dear, oh was I so not a victor in me survival for had I lost meself to thy hands of cutlery! Yet, oh delicate petals were they and delicate art they to me at the hour that counts now me dear! Oh, how lovely was it to be in thine clasp! How zealous could thou make me! Mayhap, Oblivious am I of the hours me fingers traced invisible a labyrinth of the palpable paths thine maple leaves had worn, thou behold, 'twas invisible but, am I not any to hurl any denial to the utmost of the truth that 'twas palpable. Yet, mayhap, 'twas me mortal brain to be so pliant; mayhap, 'twas the dryness of thine leaves that ran lifeless in inevitable a plethora that could those invisible routes not be sought with proclivity or, mayhap, 'twas me fate confiding in me somehow; alack, was I a captive of whispers for must I be for am I mortal an offspring to me mother Earth! Alas! Did I not fancy could the whisper be enough for me foolishness. Was it me foolishness to be so pliant but, not will I claim for the same because was I pliant to it, foolish was I because was I pliable enough to be told; may thou heed for must thee heed it for do I not surrender, hath I not intended to me dear! 

'Twas soothing! Ah, so delicate a care to be cosseted by! Was it and may it further be that me predilection was carved as did I ransack meself cuddled in another's arms. Unaware am I of the affliction I hurl at thou but, must thee know that am I not a traitor in thine love for were thou me air but, 'twas and 'tis me heart. Can I not surrender either! do I not surrender either! But, am I to surrender me dear - peccable yet, audacious a predilection I hath for thee. Oh, inflict me investments I spent on thee for departure seemingly makes thee too distant a memory for me, too distant for me nothing to reach thine doorstep of the wisdom art thou ineluctable a bearer of but, mere a retrospection I own and do I to thee owe. Will me remembrance not be Shakespeare's for oh! pardon me for am I too oblivious a mortal yet, may thee, midst the hours of starry nights and whilst me somnambulant a brain's activity, will I ransack for thy hold in, remain...for remain must the splash of every piece that, despite coerced with bitter a sweet by one's own lover, intends to caress just the same...