Sweet Malady

Sweet malady, abduct this reason
That whispers a festival of doubt
But provide no morsels for sacrifice.

No sanatorium yet, but still the signs
Calamitous mount, to discharge their glut
Of faithful words roosted with love.

Paradox indeed that permits pain
To recoil resigned seclusion known
For sensual battle joined once more.

No cure then, or recovery divine
To jeopardise this afflicted breath
But a kiss please, to silence need.