Oh love, sweet poison, that doth feed on pain,
A bitter sweet, that doth both soothe and stain,
Thou art a flame, that doth both warm and burn,
A tempest wild, that doth both calm and churn.

Thou art a flower, that doth bloom and fade,
A fickle mistress, that doth both give and raid,
Thou art a joy, that doth both lift and crush,
A precious gift, that doth both heal and blush.

Oh love, thou art a game, that doth both win and lose,
A cruel joke, that doth both laugh and bruise,
Thou art a treasure, that doth both shine and rust,
A lofty dream, that doth both soar and bust.

Thou art a bliss, that doth both bless and curse,
A fleeting hope, that doth both rise and disperse,
Thou art a wonder, that doth both amaze and tire,
A potent elixir, that doth both heal and sire.

Oh love, thou art a paradox, that doth both live and die,
A poignant tale, that doth both whisper and cry,
Thou art a mystery, that doth both lure and fright,
A sacred bond, that doth both unite and fight.

So let us dance, in this oxymoronic romance,
A sacarstic love, that doth both charm and entrance,
For in the end, we shall both win and lose,
And in our hearts, this love shall both heal and bruise.