How am I meant to love you?
We share not
one heart or bed. Eyes did not meet forlorn,
passions flutter, flirtations utter. Thoughts
of you do not arouse desire. Yes, worn
and tired these tropes adorn our conception
but persistent in existence. How can
I define my love when no reception
favours its nobility, no emblem stands
in honour of its longitude, no rose
to bloom its beauty or thorn to prick pain?
Where are the words to tell of our hearts close
happiness – the strength you nurse without blame?
How? I know not but this at least is true,
constant inspiration, I do love you.