My soul is a cauldron of passion.
You inflame my mind.
My thoughts are all jumbled,
as I fight this confusion.
In frustration you struck out,
seeking to touch my heart,
not to hurt, but to escape the pain.
A sword tempered in fire,
must be hammered into shape.
Pounded on the anvil it grows
stronger with every blow.
Handled improperly it cuts deep.
How much tempering can our love take?
Does my desire grow stronger
Every time I get knocked down
Only to make my legs grow weak?
With my last breadth I will arise
from the heat of the forge.
That is how strong my love is for you.