the book of love

Hope the author sees this

Who wrote the book of love?
In my mindless mind, in a state of ecstasy, I've become a prisoner to love. Tis but a tale, that I should tell of all the mindful flowers you smelt like, blossoms and marigolds and roses too, you're a perfect blend of all of their nectar. As beautiful as the sun flowers, as elegant as the oak tree, as peaceful as the forest could be. you my love is perfection define.
Whoever wrote the book of love
Ah!
these lines are drowning, soaking me with every smell of love, I can't think, I can't breathe and my mind is clouded with the faintest of wildest fantasies. All I ever want to do is, play with your hair and stare into your eyes and then at your lips and know I will die when I get to kiss them.
Who f*****g wrote the book of love!
Sun-dappled wild beauty, running through grasses, that bow down and worship at your feet. This whole gesture of romance actually got me jealous.
There I stood in confusion, watching two separate pounds of flesh go happily up and happily down while you run. With a boner in my Jean, thought i in my mindless mind, this should happen here in the open.
All of the Adrenaline, chemicals, coals, that set us ablaze. We lived and we laughed all for the moment.
Who wrote the book of love really?
scribbling angrily on brown paperback. And now at this point my lover had gone, after all we shared, even our pass codes.
Inevitable are these lines, of these paragraphs, of these pages, of this book of love. That love is sweet and bitter, lovely and painful and maybe not yet the chapters, i met the undying love of my life.
Whoever wrote the book of love, should be applauded...