Been there, slain that.
Pestilence makes the heart go wander.
Every second of every hour of every day is like a thousand knives of fire stabbing me in the heart. I long for thee incessantly, so much that my sorrow seems without surcease. My alliteration is small comfort next to the warm gaze of thine azure eyes. I like the cut of your jib. That chastity belt of yours would look great on my sleeping chamber floor.