The Price Love will probably kill me, Long before I fell out of it, Or madly in with another. It will rush like a red hand, With doubt and steady stillness, Of another lover into something else. It will kill with everything, But a feeling of full self-despair, And a moment of bitter nostalgia. Love will probably kill me, Leaving everything I am behind, Or giving me anything I owe it in return. It will blush my cheeks with tenderness, Wailing my veins into stray lines Of another’s love, an...