Dopamine, Norepinephrine, and Serotonin

Somehow the dim light of pallid moonlight

Releases mischief glow behind your eyes.

Like a blind person grappling without sight,

Cursing vertigo as I began to rise

No higher than liquid amber in the sky,

Thus splattered, the canvas is not unmarked

Of fiery crimson and gold in July.

The clock strikes twelve - I feel I have embarked

A highway of giddy, clichéd moments,

Dozen red roses and heart-shaped boxes.

Constantly, I declare no competence

At mysteries with provided access.

I kept rose-tinted glass for long years

And you were the reason as it appears.

(A/N: writing about love is always a foggy subject... and why is it that every teacher makes us write it in sonnet form?