Quixotic

Our love proliferated like a wind arrow

And we hate narcissism to it's level

My myopic eyes gather cloud of affection

Your exacting behaviour puts dusk before me

Grew with an acrid taste; it was harsh again

To be oblivious is to be forgetful or unaware

Wipe out the mutual rancor among idle souls

Ashley S.

Author's Note

Let me know on how to improve.