Arrows Filled with Wine

Drunken infatuation, leave away
Blurring the vision of reasonable men
Weakens knees, causes thought to stray
Clinging dreams that only “should have been”
Stirs in healthy folk a gutty knot
Ties the tongue or looses it by turn
Makes all common sense appear forgot
Chills the bones and leaves the face to burn
No cousin to true love, yet seems to me
Infatuation, more action does decree