Candid Confession

When 

I behold 

The dew 

On the bosom of rose, 

You frequent 

To my mind. 

When 

The unruly Zephyr 

Gently tousles 

My hair, 

You frequent 

To my mind. 

When belligerent moon 

Peeps through the window, 

You frequent 

To my mind.

Is this the symptom 

Of philophobia;

If it is so, 

I would love 

To be in this?

If wishes 

Mollycoddle me

For acquiring 

Your nearness, 

There is no wrong in it, 

I would 

Love to do 

Candid confession 

To my silence 

I love you.