Nights without love

A night without love — well, it happens, it’s true,
Like snow that must melt when the spring sky is blue.
But two? That is worse, a much colder affair,
The ice on the puddle is stubborn to bear.
Three nights without love, without warmth in your grace,
Like a tale left unread, like a sweet, empty space.
Four long nights of longing, I’m losing my way,
Your hair haunts my dreams in the ghost-light of day.
The fifth night I fear I will never survive,
In the dark, tangled woods, I am barely alive.
The sixth night — the sixth circle, hell’s own design,
I crave only you, let your soul merge with mine!
And seven nights now I have withered in pain,
With fevered, wild visions that drive me insane.
The eighth night I know I will never get through,
I ache for your touch — will I see you, is it true?
The ninth — like a Damocles sword hanging low,
For all of my torment, it strikes the final blow.