My heart knows not days, weeks, months or years.
It knows not the sub-zero Winter or the gale winds of Fall.
It knows not the pleasantry brought by another’s call.
It knows not the twilight before the darkness of night.
Nor the Rooster’s cry when sensed the sun’s faintest light.
It only knows of the warmth her porcelain skin emanates.
It only knows of the swift step in her royal gait.
It only knows of the smile that shatters inhibitions.
And of Cupid’s arrow, flying true to its mission;
urging miles traversed, only love could coerce.
All conscious moments lay still in a last embrace.
The scent of her hair, the glow in her eyes,
For nothing since has given reason to rise.