154: I’m sick from love, disarming my love god once asleep; I’m diseased, too hot a votary for you. 

I’m sick to vow a life of heart-inflaming desire never touching you..
Trompe l’oeil conditions I now know approximate maiden
hand abstractions.. (tripping by.. 
each note taken up hot as a brand) ..and so well inflaming we grow 

mind and body worship by your side, truth un-quenched, a general idea to warm us, bathing you in a healthful belief system. Or do  

we prove a chaste remedy never cools, but heats hearts for perpetual cure?