Ah, young love, how it tickles my insides.
When I see these new doves,
A sensation goes deep down my verterbrae.
I remember my love in the young,
I remember as it was the time yesterday.
Holding flesh, puckering as if for lemons.
But then the past becomes the future,
And the young become the old and restless
And begin to wilt on their own
Yet some of our passion becomes envy
And to others it stays strong forever.