Fevered Love's Passion (Sonnet)

Oh, cruel fate hath cast upon me this fever,

A torment fierce that grips my mortal frame.

Mine eyes, ablaze, yearn for thy visage, fair,

That heavenly visage, thy beauty's flame.

My body, aflame, doth mirror hell's own fire,

An inferno that consumes my very soul.

Thy hands, like snow, so soft and pure, I crave,

To quench this thirst, this fevered longing's toll.

I, languishing, am on the brink of death,

Yet e'en in this plight, 'tis thou I desire.

For in thy love, the fragments of my heart,

Yearn to be made whole, consumed by love's fire.

Dark Lady, 'tis thee and thee alone I seek,

To heal this fevered soul, so frail and weak.

© NILOY SHOUVIC ROY