Tell the Angels of my love for you and how I could sacrifice my life for you. Tell them of what we discuss at the bayou and all the strength and wealth I’ve gathered because of you. When I see you, tell people what sets my soul on fire about you; it’s the whole of you. The sight of you, the thought of you, the dreams about you, make me feel like always being with you; always standing by you and always talking about you, because the best I’ve ever had is you, and nobody else, nobody else can be better than you; that I really love you and all I’ve ever really wanted is you.
Your beauty is the secret behind my creativity, just like civility is the secret behind the sociability of any society. My paternity and maternity yearns to receive Your Majesty in our hospitable domesticity. When will you visit our city? When will you give your presence to purify my salinity? When will you put my turgidity into a suitable stability? In my whole life, I’ve traveled in anonymity. But now that you’ve come, I’ve unveiled my royal identity. And I’ve realized finally, that individuality and singularity only puts a gentle soul into a bumptious stupidity and makes a calm, even a calm man a victim of unnecessary anxiety. Although a man must endure chastity and defend the integrity of his sexuality, but unless he bears the responsibility of managing a love faculty, the visibility of his maturity still schools in a bogus university.
I am out of the buffoonery, found you I did, my sweet deary. Your discovery has endowed me with weaponry to fight all arrogance that could send a man into a penitentiary or a cemetery. Some other love affairs are birthed by monetary bribery, but without passing an order to a brewery or taking you for shopping or an eatery, you still waited for me to complete my biology and chemistry; yes, without any mockery. You took me out of an emotional slavery and proved contributory to the writing machinery which has always been the weaponry that makes me contemporary enough to elevate my citizenry to the rank of Extra-ordinary. You plan my budgetary and yet never requested a salary. The heavens surely know that my love isn’t at all monetary; there will never be a reason to cry the notes of sorry. I can hear the Angels testify that we are to marry, get entwined and procreate in a home of love that doesn’t need a refinery before being worthy of causing an annual anniversary.
The cogency of our love has been heard on the Aegean Sea. The brilliancy of our consistency has invited even the Catholic Papacy to our constituency. The adequacy of our idiosyncrasy has earned us, in the House of Senate of our city, an honorary candidacy. Even the National Love Agency has decreed a policy in respect of our juicy articulacy. We’ve made enemies who currently package their conspiracy, but their contingency will soon appear a fallacy. If they perpetuate their bureaucracy, we shall project our democracy that will finally expose their leprosy.
The rigidity of your shoulders makes me praise the expertise of the Holy Trinity. The purity of your nudity escalates my visions into a faculty of actuality. People may call me an idiot or probably a nonentity, dwelling in the stupidity of an emotional captivity. But I know after all, I’m not in poverty, only that the virility of my emotionality is of the first-class acidity. I am not a member of the Illuminati; the only fraternity I’m sworn to is the integrity and security of your social and physiological vicinity. This billet-doux is meant to assure that my love for you will last eternity. Your beauty and virginity is of the first-degree originality, and as long as my heart beats, you’re my one and only authority; besides the Divinity.
Your mate, eBay